


To Mend an Angel

by seademons



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Breaking Up & Making Up, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Organized Crime, Sexual Content, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2020-11-26 07:50:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 51,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20926700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seademons/pseuds/seademons
Summary: Roxas was supposed to be a one-night stand, not a work assignment.





	1. Shrouded

**Author's Note:**

> Mildly NSFW.

Always too crowded inside and annoyingly loud outside, the Brass Cannon wasn’t a bar that they came to very often. Not over the weekend, anyway, because there were usually far better options then, but it was one of the few bars in town that actually opened during the week. Tables were always strewn all across the plaza regardless of what day it was, which was a constant plus, and the prices were just about fair for this corner of town, totalling the entirety of what they had to offer, but, for a Tuesday night, it was good enough. It had to either be this, or an actual commitment to spend money on alcohol in the middle of the week, and they weren’t celebrating anything tonight. Sure, a third of the plaza was consumed with folding tables and chairs, and the people around them were loud, but they had a nice spot near the front door, though not so close as to have an interminable stream of people bumping into the back of their chairs on the way to the bathroom, just close enough that getting up for another drink wouldn’t be an annoying stroll through a maze of tables and chairs. The beer was cheap, the air was crisp, tomorrow wouldn’t be for another two hours, and they didn’t have to think about it. 

With a cigarette between two fingers, Axel took a drag, people watching as his friends vented about work and made plans for the weekend. Would it be at Saix’s again? Only if Demyx stopped going through his groceries and eating all of his crackers, but he got so hungry after a smoke, and couldn’t Saix simply child-proof his apartment? He shouldn’t have to do that for a grown ass adult. Maybe he could hide them in a safe, then? No. A scoff, and Axel didn’t have to look to know it was from Aqua, at the end of the table. Instead, he watched the crowd and the types of people that sat together; the table of the asshole businessmen that only clocked in after twelve, the table of the unhappy housewives that couldn’t stand being home with their husbands, the table of the clearly underage kids with fake IDs, the table of the college students that probably went to the campus five blocks away, and this dude. This dude. 

Somewhere between goth and grunge, lazy in the way that he wore all black, a big sweater with accents in white, something written along the sleeves, black rings on his fingers, blonde hair, blue eyes, and this dude had the nicest smile that he had ever fucking seen. He was drunk, evidently, laughing stupidly at his friends’ remarks and hyperfocusing on the cards in his hands, as if Uno were a game for geniuses and he were playing against Einstein himself. A draw, another draw, another one, and he cracked a wide grin, barely able to keep a straight face at his own disgrace, finding it all hilarious, and he was so fucking beautiful. Yes, beautiful, with his pale blue eyes, sandy blonde hair, delicate eyebrows and pouty lips, a perfect Cupid’s bow. He was young, maybe in his early twenties, maybe a college student, one that had just gotten in, that still played around with beer, made new friends every other week, and thought this was all awesome, that going to a bar on a Tuesday was the most adult shit ever, that was one step away from trying a tequila shot and kicking his weekends up a notch forever. He laughed and Axel could hear it from two tables away, the timbre of his voice, high enough to prove Axel’s point, the light smoothness of his words, a little slurred together, but not all that noticeable. The careful way with which he chose what to say screamed English Major, and Axel wondered if he’d make any leeway by name-dropping Poe if they ever met. 

The dude closed his eyes in defeat and pushed his cards away for the end of the round, though not seeming to take it personally, on the verge of laughter instead of chagrin. Axel hadn’t been on-and-off watching him for too long, but could assume that he hadn’t won much so far, just by how unimpressed he was at his own debacle, throwing back the rest of his beer in mourning and getting up right after, immediately landing a flat palm on the table for balance. He must’ve been here for a while. With an announcement that Axel couldn’t hear from his seat, but that he guessed was this dude going to the bathroom, he left the company of his friends and came over. Axel watched him stumble down the aisle in between tables and bump into a couple of chairs on his way to the bar, in black jeans and leather boots, about as short in height as Axel had expected him to be. When he approached, blue eyes met green, held them for a second, then rightfully dropped to glance him down, following the ritual, and tugging his lips into a smirk. He had yet to be wrong about some guy at a bar. Baby blues took him in on the way back up, too, as you do, found the smirk on his face, and promptly looked away; the dude’s whole face turned to hide as he walked past their table to the Brass’ front door. Absolutely fucking adorable. Usually, he’d turn around for a free back view, but today just wasn’t that kind of day. 

“Jesus Christ.” Saix whispered. 

“Axel, could you keep it in your pants for a single fucking day? We’re trying to hang out here. You know, together.” 

A click of the tongue and a swig of his beer. If Demyx didn’t demonize him for something or other just to look innocent in front of the others, then it wasn’t really a night out at all. This far into their friendship, that didn’t bother him as much as it used to, though it was still annoying to keep being the target of this shit when he wasn’t even doing anything, especially at such a stale place like the Brass, but he guessed that being the only single one in the group came with its pests, and this one dressed like his best friend. 

“I was just looking, man.” 

“Right; that’s step number one. Then, you’ll get up, go after him, and leave us for the rest of the night. Then, tomorrow, you’ll wake me up at six trying to get into our house, and finally pass out on our couch.” 

“It’s not Friday, Dem. Chill.” A slight scowl as he finished the rest of his beer and reached into the bucket for another one, a can plucked straight from the ice. “Also, that only happened once.” 

“What, crashing on the couch? That’s happened at least, like, ten times.” 

“No, waking you up.” 

“The details are inconsequential.” Saix jumped in, eyes down at his own drink. “The point he’s trying to make is that you’re imprudent. You meet anyone, and you fuck anyone. It’s dangerous.” 

That comment stung, but only a little bit, and only because it had come from Saix, who had a little more of his respect. 

“No, I’m always careful, and, anyway, I’m not even going after this guy right now, dude. What’s with the witch-hunt, huh?” 

“It sounds like they’re jealous.” Aqua shrugged, leaned far back onto her seat, with a leg over the other and a beer in hand. “The only people who care that much about something you have are the ones who don’t have it.” 

A wide grin cut through his face at that, and widened even further at his friends’ indignation; the deep scowl on Demyx’s face, accompanied by an immediate refusal, and the eye roll from Saix, an attempt at covering up the crease on his forehead. He laughed, bringing up his beer as Aqua dismissed everything that Demyx said with an “I’m not complaining, you are” and made it all worse. They bickered, but not really; Aqua had a smile on her face the entire time, while Saix tried to get them both to drop it, and change subjects. A couple of drags, a couple of swigs, and they finally decided to cave, going back to the fact that his sex life was, apparently, a public concern among his closest friends, and that his late arrivals made his roommate worry. Alright, then he wouldn’t get home late anymore; simple as that, and, Aqua, did she have a spare bedroom at her place? No, but she had a couch. Okay, he’d take it. Wide grins and knowing glances as they sipped their beers and Demyx went on about that not being the point, that Saix was right, and, anyway, it didn’t matter, because Axel would never fucking change. Cheers, and they all toasted to that. 

Movement on his right, someone walking past, and they came with a voice that he recognized. 

“Hey, can I have a smoke?” 

He turned to see the guy from earlier, now standing right next to his chair, almost a little too close to his thigh, looking down at him with baby blues that belonged in the sky. In good humor, he fished for his pack and gave the dude one, their fingers brushing as he took it, a nice smile on his face, lips rounding around a thank you. From the silence that his table had suddenly become, he could feel three stares bore into the side of his face, carefully studying this encounter, the way that he took out a lighter without request, flicked on a flame, and held it not too far from himself, definitely not far up enough for the guy to reach it while standing. Baby blues glanced down at it, read it, considered it; the guy knew exactly what was happening here, brought the cigarette up to his lips and leaned down anyway, close, pushing the cigarette into the flame, blue eyes tinted orange and fixed onto his face. God, he was fucking beautiful; enveloped in orange and sage and bringing the ocean with his presence, as if pulling Axel into the sands of the Mediterranean and the warm waters of the sea. He puffed once, cheeks hollowing just a bit, and Axel could’ve fucking kissed him. Instead, the guy moved back, and he clicked the flame off. 

“What’s your name?” 

At this point, he had to know. 

“Roxas.” Spoken into a hand, behind the cigarette. One breath out, and smoke dissipated into the air. “What’s yours?” 

“Axel.” 

“Axel.” Echoed back thoughtfully, in that light tone from before, his name on full lips that made him want them. It sounded nice, like it belonged there, on his tongue. Suddenly, he really wanted to have him. 

“Would you like to sit with us, Roxas?” And have a beer, and stay a while, and sit so close that an arm across his back would be fine, and a hand on his thigh would go unnoticed, and maybe they could take this somewhere else before very long. Baby blues moved from his face to his table at that, actually taking notice of his friends this time, rounding every one of their reactions and reading them, tallying them up, weighing the possible outcomes from accepting the invitation. Not that that wasn’t already obvious enough, but it did mean that Roxas here would get to meet some of the most unpleasant people in town, and he must’ve gauged that from a single glance at their overall dissatisfaction, because the only one who didn’t look like they wanted to shoot him in the head was Aqua. 

“Could we maybe just sit you and me?” A question asked low and quiet, almost shy, as if aiming for secrecy but not really, and accompanied by the smallest tilt of the head that kicked this guy’s adorableness to the very next level and hit him like a shot of coke in the veins, delicious and addictive and that made him want something even stronger next. There was no turning Roxas down, not even if he wanted to, which, fortunately for the both of them, he didn’t, and promptly got up from his seat in response, a wide smirk on his face as he did so. His friends, two out of three, either groaned or rolled their eyes in condemnation, watching what they had already expected out of this whole thing. In truth, he almost fucking laughed. 

“Guys, I’ll see you all later.” He announced cheerfully, and, had he been properly drunk, might even have made an actual show of it all, walking out with the one guy that he had been eyeing this entire time. He couldn’t say that that didn’t happen often, but every victory was still worth celebrating, even if the fun had barely just begun. With an arm across Roxas’ shoulders, he walked his prize away to dissatisfied farewells and promises of seeing him tomorrow. This song and dance was old, and they all knew how it was going to end. 

“What’s your poison, Roxas? Let me buy you a drink.” Spoken over the loud noises of the crowd, over shrieking laughter and drunk conversations that shouldn’t have been everybody’s business, but were. One drag of the cigarette, and Roxas glanced up at him in response, an eyebrow raised with his interest, a glint in his eye. So he liked being spoiled, huh. Axel knew the type, and it was the easiest to fucking please, perfect for tonight. No one would’ve been more fitting. 

“What do they have?” 

“Let’s take a look.” 

As they walked through the front door, Roxas stopped a moment to put out the cigarette on the doorframe and keep the rest. 

Unsurprisingly, the inside of the bar was even more crowded than the outside, with tables pushed close together on one side, and an agglomeration of drunk customers surrounding the bar on the other side, only vaguely polite, pushing each other to get to the front and place an order ahead of everybody else. Most of them just wanted beer, which was quick to deliver, and kept the mass flowing, while a few hung around the corners, either with their drinks or waiting for another one. With Roxas tucked safely under his wing, Axel pointed at the huge menu on the back wall, behind the bar, near the ceiling, and watched two light blues attempt to read it, though clearly too drunk for much of that. 

“If I’m not wrong, you can choose the alcohol you want here, like, you could have a mojito with vodka, or a martini with whiskey. They’ll make anything for you.” 

“What’s a mojito?” 

Green met blue, and he grinned wide. For whatever reason, he found that kind of adorable. 

“It’s a drink with soda and mint. Very sweet, with lemon slices inside.” 

“Is it good?” 

“Yeah, very popular.” 

“Okay.” Then, as an afterthought. “Are you having one, too?” 

“Well, I’m more of a Manhattan man myself, but sure. Let’s double that.” 

“Really? I’m from White Plains.” 

He laughed. God, this guy was fucking funny. 

Up at the front of the bar, and through a constantly moving crowd, he boxed Roxas in, safe within his personal space, and only between the counter and himself, nobody else, too short to be messing around with everyone in here, and clearly very into this little privilege thing, getting free drinks and being practically the only one who wasn’t getting shoved and pushed around for a single beer. Axel stood behind him while ordering, with a hand on the counter and Roxas leaning on that arm, idly watching the chaos that brewed around him, detached from it all. A hand on his hip, Roxas holding him by the belt, and something crossed his mind, but quickly disappeared. Innocent. This close, blonde hair brushed his chin and ocean waves wrapped him in cypress and salt, making him breathe in deep, his own cologne mixing tobacco with sage and he liked the new outcome. Roxas moved, leaned in closer, nose brushing the side of his face for a whisper. 

“Are we sitting outside?” 

“Would you like that?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then we are.” 

With drinks in hand and a few more beers, Axel guided him outside. This far into the night, some people had already started to leave, freeing up a couple of tables at the edge of the conglomeration, one of which they took, at the very corner, by the glass windows of the bar. They took neighboring seats, both with relatively good views of their respective friends’ tables, but not that Axel really cared much. His personal idiots were still there, and their bucket of ice was still full of cans, so they’d take a while to leave, meaning that he’d probably leave before them, and they’d know exactly when. That really didn’t matter. Roxas’ friends, on the other hand, seemed to have stopped drinking a while ago, but still played another round of Uno without him. He must’ve told them about this at some point, as to not have them wait for him. At his right, Roxas chugged down half of his mojito in a single go, set the glass back down, and grimaced. That put a smirk on his face. 

“Too strong?” He asked. 

“Brain freeze.” 

He snorted, sipping on his own glass, but leisurely. This place mixed them strong, and the ice was there for a reason. 

“You were right.” Roxas commented, going for a beer next. “That’s really good.” 

“Glad you like it.” A sip, a quarter of his drink gone, and Roxas downed the can as if it were water. “Looks like you’re far more interested in beer, though.” 

A shrug, the can came down, and a tongue swiped over Roxas’ lips. Shiny, full. Very close. 

“I guess.” He commented airily, pulling out the one cigarette from before. “Maybe if I hadn’t started with it, I wouldn’t even have picked it up.” Shuffling, hands in the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie, and he took out a lighter. “Beer’s not great.” 

“Not if you like it sweet.” He spoke low, almost distracted, watching Roxas pluck the cigarette between his lips and light it, puffing on it, cheeks hollowing. “Beer’s an acquired taste.” 

Cigarette away from his face, and a breath, smoke dissipating into the air.

“It’s cheap, that’s my acquired taste, but thanks.” A smile, blue eyes bright. “You’re nice.” 

A half-smile in return, the sober half of his brain keeping him from saying that everything had a price, because Roxas knew that already, and played by the rules. Instead, he held the stare for a second, studying the lightness of Roxas’ eyes, the shape of his face, the roundness of his cheeks. He’d probably look much older if he had a beard. Roxas turned to toke on his cigarette, eyes cast out at the sea of tables in front of them, the milky white of his neck a contrast to the black of his hoodie. 

“Are those your friends?” 

That had him glancing six to seven tables ahead, where the others still sat, drank and laughed. 

“Yeah. The blonde one’s my roommate and the other two are friends from college.” 

Roxas turned to look at him, blue eyes swimming, unable to stop and focus. He was very, very drunk, and maybe the added beers had been a little too much. 

“What are you taking?” 

A snort. 

“I graduated two years ago, babe.” 

“In what?” 

“Statistics. Technically, that was my Master's; I first graduated in Business." 

Blonde eyebrows raised half-impressed as Roxas glanced down at his beer, knocked the rest of it back, and placed it down. 

“You’re smart.” 

“Whatever. What are _ you _ studying?” 

“Arts. English. I have no future perspective of a career and will probably starve in a basement, but at least I’ll be making music and not selling it.” 

A grin, he shook his head. 

“How old are you, man?” 

“How old do you think I am?” 

He squinted, watching the light of the bar warm the side of Roxas’ face and bring a yellow tinge to his eyes, making them burn, his hair almost red. He could've kissed him right there. 

“At least twenty-one to be here, but I don’t know you like that.” 

“Would you like to?” 

A smirk, lazy and slow. 

"You already know the answer to that." 

A wide grin, and Roxas picked up his drink again, this time nursing it semi-calmly, still in big swigs, but more spaced out than a single murderous shot, exactly how Axel paced himself. Roxas must've been watching him. 

"I guess we have to finish all of this first." Roxas commented, slurring through his words as he glanced at their respective drinks and the three untouched beers still on the table. Axel simply shrugged. 

"Only if you want to. We can leave anytime." 

"What about the beer?" 

"We'll take it with us." 

A glance at the table, and Roxas' eyes were empty, as if he hadn't been registering any of this, or had immediately forgotten everything that had just happened. It made his heart skip with doubt and his blood run cold, and he fucking hated it, because maybe this guy was a little too drunk for anything tonight, and he'd have to pass on it out of courtesy, for this dude's own good. God, how he didn't want to do that, though. He'd rather have his fucking balls cut off than do that right now. Fuck. 

"Hey…" 

"Are we going to your place?" Spoken quickly, almost absently, cutting him right off. He blinked. 

"Unfortunately, my roommate and I have rules about that, but I don't mind going to yours." 

A shake of the head, and Roxas placed his glass back down, empty. His own was just about the same. 

"No, _ my _ roommates are assholes." 

"Then, how about…" He leaned back onto his seat, pushing the chair back an inch to glance down the sidewalk, rounding the Brass' corner. There was a hotel on this street, he knew that, just couldn't remember which one. A glowy, green sign in the distance. "Holiday Inn?" 

A laugh, and, unsurprisingly, it was the nicest thing that he had ever heard. 

"Like the Pitbull song?" 

A snort from his part. 

"Right, yeah." 

"Okay." 

At almost midnight, the hotel lobby was deserted, with only a single employee behind the counter and absolute silence surrounding them. The sound of the sliding doors closing behind the two of them reverberated loudly across the entire room, efficient at catching the employee's attention, and making them look up from their work. They crossed the lobby together, Roxas leaning on his arm for support, having a very difficult time walking straight, and part of him was still unsure about all of this. In fact, there was a voice in his brain screaming for him to turn back and leave right now, but it was muffled by the alcohol and entirely overshadowed by the thought of what Roxas looked like under his clothes. Now that… That was a much, much louder voice, and what had him book a room, take the keys, and walk Roxas to it. After such a considerable amount of rum and beer, all he could really think of was undressing this guy and fucking the shit out of him. Nicely. 

He slid the keycard in and unlocked the door, letting Roxas walk in first, wobbly on drunk legs, using the walls for support. That made his pulse run ice cold, and he wanted to take back the last three drinks that Roxas had just had, but fuck it, fuck it, he stepped in and let the door close behind himself. Jacket off, thrown on a nearby chair, he approached, watching Roxas lay on the bed with his legs bent over the edge, the leftover beer safely placed on a table. Laying on his back and with a foot up on the mattress, Roxas watched him come over, blue eyes slitted, glancing him down. Goddammit, he wanted him. 

"Aren't you too drunk for this, Roxas?" Voice low, he stood by the bed, in between Roxas' legs, one hand on the raised knee, a thumb swiping over the fabric of his pants. In reply, Roxas shook his head, a hand leisurely pulling at his hoodie to reveal the waistband of his pants and a sliver of skin, which Axel ate up immediately, cock pulsing, jaw set. Fuck. 

"Take your shirt off." Slurred to near incomprehension, but words that he would've understood even if in Arabic. With one swift motion, better practiced and more natural than breathing, he pulled his shirt overhead and threw it aside, to the ground, one step closer to the bed now, his knees to the mattress. Glancing him down, Roxas bit his lip, pink and soft in between round teeth and he wanted to fucking kiss him. To crash onto him, bite his lips off and fuck him deep into the mattress. Instead, he took Roxas' leg, pulled it up, and undid the laces of his right boot, eyes down at his stomach, watching him pull the hoodie up and off, shirt still on, a Green Day logo on it. Utterly unsurprising, yet endearing in its own way, or maybe just because he wanted to see it on the ground, as well. Boot one off, loud as it hit the ground, and Roxas obediently brought his other leg up for the same treatment. He liked this. Easy, easy to read, the type that liked being treated like a little princess, and, luckily for him, Axel could do that all fucking day. 

Both boots off, feet on the mattress, and Axel kneeled onto the bed, in between Roxas' thighs, hands flat on their sides, running up to his hips. A grin on Roxas' face and Axel wanted to kiss him, hard, a lot. One hand on the front of Roxas' pants, fingers over the button and palm pressing down on his crotch, feeling him up, rubbing his cock, making him close his eyes and hum. Delicious, like music to the ears, an arm over Roxas' forehead and stomach uncovered, smooth, soft. The palm on Roxas' crotch pressed down once and got a moan out of him, fingers flicking the button undone, easy, quick. Zipper down, and he lifted one of Roxas’ legs with a hand behind his knee, pulling his hips up and off the mattress, just so the pants could come off. Swift, and simple, discarded on the floor by the foot of the bed. Roxas licked his lips. 

“Kiss me.” A command, and so he obliged; with a hand on the mattress by Roxas’ side, he lowered himself until his forearm lay on the bed and his body pushed Roxas’ down, skin to skin, Roxas’ shirt only covering half of his torso. A hand behind his neck, the other on his back, and he leaned down to meet Roxas’ face with his own, crashing into a hard-hitting kiss that had Roxas humming into his mouth, hands grabbing onto his skin. Teeth on soft lips, tugging and biting, tongues together and down Roxas' throat, muffling his sounds, drawing all breath out of him. A movement, his hips grinding down onto Roxas' own, rubbing his cock through denim and cotton, rocking him against the mattress, and two legs closed around his waist, absently, instinctively, tight to keep him close. Roxas had done this before. 

A hand down where their bodies met, and he undid his own pants, belt and button, to pull them off. Halfway down his thighs was fine, along with his underwear; his skin burned where it touched Roxas', his veins ran with fire, and this was taking too long. A tug on Roxas' boxers next, eager to speed this up, but two hands moved down to secure them in place instead, denying him. He pulled away then, breaking the kiss to search for Roxas' eyes, to question him, to know if the voice in his head had been right all along, but couldn’t find them; either closed, or turned very low, down at their bodies, unreadable, he wasn’t sure. He opened his mouth, but Roxas beat him to it. 

"Turn off the lights." Quiet, yet firm, despite the fact that Roxas refused to look at him. Was he shy? A quick glance over his own shoulder, at the wall next to the bed, and the switch wasn't within arm reach; he'd have to get up for it. Fuck that. 

"It's fine, Roxas." 

"Please." 

A breath, a suppressed groan, and his jaw set; goddammit. Did it really fucking matter? A deep exhale, and he got up on both feet; it was fine. It was fine. It _ didn’t _ matter. A quick step over, arm outstretched, an easy reach, and the lights went out. 

Roxas was good. Sweet, liked everything that he did, almost too much, almost suspiciously so; moaning when he should, groaning when he should, cursing when he should, as if in a high school play, rehearsed. He noticed it in passing, a “huh” in the back of the mind as their hips met and Roxas whimpered, as their kisses grew sloppy and Roxas could barely breathe, as he did whatever he wanted and Roxas arched his back at it all. Halfway encouraging, halfway not, though fucking Roxas hard into the mattress and with alcohol poisoning his bloodstream, he barely even cared. The only clear memory that he had of it, that sobered him up for a whole two minutes and had him pushing deep enough to bottom out, was a kiss on Roxas’ neck, nibbles and bites never wholehearted enough to mark, it just wasn’t his style, but nails dug into his back, thighs squeezed his waist, and, through a poorly muffled whine, Roxas asked him to do it; to brand him, to bite him, to give him hickeys bright enough to last the week. He thrust in deep, and sunk his teeth right in; he lived to serve, and Roxas loved it. 

He hadn’t planned to spend the night here, not in the middle of the week, but his head swam, the bed wasn’t all that substandard from the norm, and Roxas didn’t seem very inclined to leave, either. All he did was turn to lie on his stomach, hide his face in his arms, and go completely silent; blonde hair silver in the moonlight, the curve of his back pale and smooth, no scars, no tattoos, shirt pulled all the way up to his armpits. He wasn’t even laying the right way, at the foot of the bed, crossways. Axel got up to put on some underwear, and flicked the light back on, though not the overhead one, just a nearby floor lamp. Roxas promptly groaned. 

“If you’re spending the night, at least lie down right.” He spoke from the end of the bed, standing by the table with the beers, boxers back on. 

“Okay, just turn off the light.” Muffled by Roxas’ own arms. 

“No.” Pants off, he hung them over the back of a chair, on top of his jacket. 

“Axel, please.” 

He caved for no particular reason, turned the lamp back off, circled the bed, and laid down on the side closest to the door, knees bent and feet on the mattress as to not kick Roxas on the sides. In the darkness, the shuffling of sheets, Roxas moving around to lie next to him, he heard his head hitting the pillow and imagined it to have been face-first. 

“Would you rather go home?” He asked, voice quiet in the dark, small between them. 

“No, I like this.” 

If part of him wanted to kiss Roxas goodnight, it was only due to the alcohol.


	2. Connection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW I guess.

Through a gap between the curtains, sunshine filtered in, warm and bright early in the morning, a thin strand of light that spread across Roxas’ shoulders and grazed his arms, resting idly by his head, almost nestling it. That was when he saw them, the scars, from Roxas’ wrist to halfway up his forearm, some pale, some bright, and his hands shook, his skin crawled; he could feel the sting on his wrist, the burning in his arm, heart racing, punching him in the throat. He hadn’t thought about that in a long time. Since he had started working, he was pretty sure. How had he not noticed them last night? Rhetorical question, he knew how, with alcohol blurring his vision and the lights off. Was that why Roxas had wanted them off so bad? Maybe. He had been wearing long sleeves, after all. Fuck. 

In the silence of the room, he took a seat on the mattress, showered and dressed and ready to go, but suddenly disinclined to do so. The initial plan, as it had always been, was to leave very quietly, pay for the room, and never see Roxas again, but his heart squeezed, and ached, and his throat closed, and he didn’t want to do that anymore. Instead, a hand touched Roxas’ hair, brushed blonde locks out of his face, and grazed the skin of his cheek, velvety smooth, along his jaw and to his neck, where the hickeys colored it purple and instantly made him regret them. He usually didn’t do that, but upon such a nice request… Either way, it wasn’t his problem. A palm on Roxas’ back, over the black fabric of his shirt, and he shook him a bit, caressed him more than that, fingers running across the length of his shoulder blades. Roxas breathed in deep, stirred a little, squinted and opened his eyes, sleepy blues that easily found his face. 

“Hey.” He damn near whispered, heart swelling, skin shivering, and this dude was so fucking beautiful that he almost even forgot everything that he was going to say right now. “Would you like some breakfast? I’m thinking Starbucks.” 

A lazy smile as Roxas stirred and turned to lay on his back, making his heart leap, and float, and his lungs breathe weird, and his face feel warm, and Roxas was so incredibly gorgeous under the morning light, moving and stretching, lazy and sweet, and he wanted to fucking scream. His hand moved away from him, ceasing all physical contact, because he was so angelic and beautiful that touching him felt wrong, as if staining and corrupting something perfect. A brief flashback from last night, the unceremonious way with which he had pushed Roxas down and fucked him until he came and his heart squeezed hard in his chest, cutting off breath with regret. No, not regret; it had been good, and he would definitely have done it again, and again, and again if possible, but guilt. He felt like shit about it. 

“Okay.” Small and sleepy and he wanted to kiss him, to give him the world, to apologize and turn back time and take him home. 

With a shiver running down his back, he got up from the bed, hands clenched into fists, heart jumping up to his throat. He didn’t know what this was, and it didn’t make sense, but he picked up Roxas’ clothes off the floor, placed them on the bed, and tried not to scream. No idea where that had come from, but watching Roxas sit up on the mattress, legs under the blanket and hands by his hips, hair mussed and bright in the sunlight, blue eyes deeper and vivider than before, he just felt so unbecoming that he didn’t even know what to do with himself, like a lowly peasant at a feast for kings. Should he leave? He could wait outside. His heart raced, his breath came in shorter, and he’d love nothing more than to wait outside. Or kiss Roxas in the face and tell him that everything would be alright, but he’d rather wait outside. 

“I’ll be in the hallway.” Spoken nicely and accompanied by a caring smile that he hoped wasn’t giving it all away too much, or being weirdly sweet for two strangers who were never going to see each other after today. Roxas thanked him around a smile, and he burned that image in the back of his retinas before walking out of the room. 

He really needed a cigarette. Some breakfast and a change of clothes, too, but mostly a cigarette, which he didn’t have here, in the hallway, hands twitching, fingers itching. He could wait. A flashback, undressing Roxas last night, the white of his stomach, his Green Day shirt, and a momentary thought of him getting dressed this morning. What did Roxas think about him? Nothing very good, of course, but last night he had said that he was nice, and it was true, he had been nice; he always was when trying to get something, and Roxas knew that, he must have. It had all been premeditated, the one song and dance that strangers at a bar all knew by heart, the one thing that they all had in common, and it was supposed to end right there; for one of them to leave in the morning, and their lives to keep on, so what the fuck was he doing? He had never invited someone to breakfast before; there wasn’t supposed to be a part two to this clownery. God, what was this? A hand reached for the Marlboro pack in his jacket, but stopped just short of reaching the pocket; this was a fucking hallway, and he was fine. Roxas would be out any minute. 

A click of the door, their shared room, and Roxas walked out fully dressed with a plastic bag in hand. Seeing him out here, away from the sun, and with “reckless creep” etched along the sleeves of his hoodie brought him a memory, the first time that he had seen him, playing Uno with his friends. Not some fragile little angel waking up in Heaven, but a gorgeous drunk dude looking for sex, and yet, somehow, Roxas was both of those people simultaneously. A sound, plastic shuffling, and Roxas offered the bag to him. 

“I put the beers in here; figured you wouldn’t want to carry them around in the open.” 

“Thanks, but you can keep them, if you want. I don’t mind at all.” 

A moment of deliberation, Roxas taking that into account and weighing out the odds in his mind, but ultimately deciding against it with a shake of the head.

“No, I can’t. Thank you, though.” 

At Starbucks, the line to the counter was about as long as expected, especially early on a Wednesday morning, before the corporate world went to work. He didn’t exactly have much to do today, just report back from yesterday, go through his email, and check in with Xemnas about this afternoon. It should be fine, should still be on, but double-checking and being extremely thorough was just part of who he was as an employee. The clock at the far wall behind the cashiers read a quarter to eight, meaning that, if he went to the office straight from here, they’d be surprised to see him clock in so early, but if he went home to change, then he might only show up after lunch. It was a struggle, and he wasn’t sure yet what to do. Standing at the tail end of the line, he noticed that passersby wouldn’t stop staring at him; customers who already got what they wanted and were on their way out, customers who were having their drinks at the tables nearby, and even some of the people ahead of them in line. What the fuck was going on? Being invisible was his fucking job. Glancing down at Roxas to ask him if he was seeing this shit, too, he realized why; the fucking hickeys all up Roxas’ neck like a plague, practically glowing against the white of his skin. Forgoing his question, he nudged Roxas on the side instead. 

“Yo, put the hood up.” 

With a distracted, and, honestly, kind of vacant look, Roxas pulled the hood up halfway, up to the middle of his head, so most of his hair stuck out of it, still up despite everything that they had done last night. Powerful hairspray, or whatever it was that he used. Adorable even at daytime. 

“Know what you want yet?” 

“A chocolate muffin.” 

“And to drink?” 

“Um.” A disinterested look up at the menu board, and he was starting to doubt Roxas' literacy. “An orange juice.” 

At the counter, he also got Roxas a sandwich alongside his own, because a muffin and some orange juice weren't proper breakfast. With a macchiato in hand, he had Roxas follow him to a table outside, where a breeze swept lightly and the atmosphere wasn’t so loud. They sat at a booth in the corner, across from each other, with the plastic bag between Roxas and the wall. 

“Sorry about yesterday.” Roxas commented quietly, halfway through his muffin, keeping his eyes down, non-confrontational. “I’m not usually like that.” 

“Like what?” 

A shrug, still refusing to meet with his eyes. 

“You know, easy. Obnoxious and loud. I didn’t mean to piss you off or anything.” 

“I didn't think any of that about you until you said it." A sip of the macchiato, and two blues finally met with his face, wide with shock, nearing fear. Man, he loved caramel. "I still don't, by the way." 

Eyes back down, and Roxas leaned onto his seat, plastic cup in hand. 

"Sorry." 

"For what?" 

Shoulders up, a shrug that never happened. 

"I don't know, I just feel like shit." 

"That's a side-effect from switching between beer and rum all night. Give it a few hours and you'll be fine." 

A tilt of the lips, an almost smile, and, honestly, he took it. He didn't know why, and it didn't make sense, but he knew that he'd take whatever Roxas would be willing to give. 

"I can drop you off at the campus on my way to the office." He offered, because they were only a few blocks away from it, and it was almost eight, anyway. They could share an Uber. 

"Um. Thanks, but I don't have classes this morning. I'm going home for now." 

Well… 

"Do you live nearby?" 

"Uh, not really. Kind of. I live on Thirty-first Avenue, close to the playground." 

Jesus, the playground? That wasn't exactly on the most straightforward way to the office, but, well, he guessed he could make a detour. He would be so inclined today. 

"I can do that." 

Fingers fidgeting over the plastic of the cup, legs just about bouncing, the beginnings of a crease on Roxas' forehead; for whatever reason, that had made him very nervous, sharing a ride with a stranger. Maybe Axel was being weird, inviting him out for breakfast, offering him a ride home. He had never followed up a one-night stand and wasn't sure what the fuck to do next, to be honest, so this type of response shouldn’t have been all that far from expected. 

"Are you sure?" Roxas asked, eyebrows knit upwards.

"I mean, if you want a ride, yeah. It just seems more economical to me." A disinterested shrug, as if he even gave a shit about money. Nice act. 

"Yeah. Yeah, okay. Thank you." 

In the car, it occurred to him that he hadn’t even asked Roxas which campus he actually went to, just assumed that he went to the closest one to the Brass, which might not even have been true. Did that make him an asshole? If Roxas lived by the playground, then he had no idea which campus he truly attended, supposing that he had moved all the way from White Plains for school. Maybe he had family here, and lived with them, then; taking a half-hour subway ride everyday to either Manhattan or Long Island instead of burning cash in an open concept loft within walking distance to class. His building looked just like every single building in Queens, low-rise and robust, all brickwork on the outside with fire escapes out the windows, glued to its immediate neighbors wall-to-wall as if a long, wide complex with four to five doors and dozens of small little windows lining the front. He felt that his last assumption had been fair to make. 

Out of the car, Roxas leaned down to glance at him, blue eyes meeting with green through the open hole that was the passenger-side window, rolled down for this exact purpose. A look on his face, the framework of a forced smile that never actually formed, and he couldn’t read what it meant, or what Roxas was feeling. It bothered him. 

“Thanks for breakfast.” Roxas commented, voice low, almost in secrecy from the driver. “And for last night, too.” 

“My pleasure.” 

A tug of the lips, a non-smile, and Roxas leaned away, stepping back onto the sidewalk. Cryptic, entirely unreadable, and it made his fingers itch, restless. It bothered him more than just a little, this inability to read the guy, but he guessed that it didn’t really matter if they weren’t ever going to see each other again. His brows furrowed. 

Usually, that thought brought him peace; the unaccountability that came with unformed bounds, never to be tended to or cared for or maintained after the fact, nothing that required further thought or the investment of his time, except this wasn't like that. During the days that followed, he found himself thinking back to that last smile, the insincerity of it, what it could possibly have meant, what Roxas had been trying to say all morning long, his sudden shyness over breakfast. He thought that Axel had been mad at him, but why? What had he done to show that? Under the warmth of the mirror lights in his bathroom, he stared at the pale lines on his wrist, partially hidden beneath a tattoo, and thought of Roxas, still sabotaging himself with new ones, alone in this fucked up path. He should've said something. It wasn't his place, but he should've said something; that it wasn't worth it, that it didn't change anything, that it did more harm than good, that he'd learn that eventually anyway, that his feelings could be channeled differently, positively, usefully. In the silence of his living room, overlooking the park, he thought of Roxas in the sunlight, how brightly his hair had shone and how beautifully his skin had glowed, and his heart swelled, and his chest grew warmer, and he hoped that he was alright. In the quiet of the office, he sighed and thought of him. In the darkness of his bedroom, he lay in bed and thought of him. Under the flashing strobe lights of a club, he drank and thought of him, loudly, intensely, hoping he'd be around. 

It took him a handful of nightclubs for that to happen, and a couple of weeks, too, but it did; to the blaring sound of Kylie Minogue up at the bar, he saw him, leaning over the counter for attention, a hand outstretched to wave with his request for a drink, all the way across the bar. The sight alone had his heart speeding, eyes wide, unveiled by the alcohol that swam in his veins and raced down his body. It'd be a crime to say that he didn't think about fucking that creamy white ass every time that he had a beer, and today was no exception. Away from the crowd, he decided to wait near it instead, closer to Roxas' end of the bar, where service was terrible because the lighting was bad, yet no one really seemed to notice that. 

When Roxas saw him, every ounce of his blood caught on fire. Bright blues widened with instant recognition, staring at him right in the face as Roxas pushed his way out of the crowd and came over to give him a big kiss. With a hand behind his neck, and practically falling over on tip-toes, Roxas met his face hard, laying on his chest and even pushing him back a step, making his hands fasten behind Roxas' back for safety, keeping them together as they nearly lost balance. He didn’t think it was going to be this easy, especially not weeks after their one-and-done deal, but Roxas asked no questions, and, smiling into the kiss, he didn’t care to question it, either. Roxas stepped back down with a grin on his face and stars in his eyes, and, staring up at him for a moment, absently took his free hand in his own. His heart punched him in the ribs, his lungs filled up, and he was so fucking glad to see Roxas right now that he knew he’d never lose him again. It had been a huge mistake the first time around. God, he had so much to say, to share, that his thoughts raced and his grin widened, but, first, what mattered most. By the hand that held his own, he pulled Roxas onto the dancefloor. If this boy couldn’t dance, then they had no business with each other tonight. 

To much of Roxas’ luck, and, frankly, his own as well, the moment that music thundered through their bodies and the beat pulsed within their chests, their place on the dancefloor was found, and they fit together as halves of a whole, moving in perfect synchrony with each other, an unspoken language that they were both fluent in. Roxas danced in curves, feet easily following his lead, practiced at it, with hands on his body that touched his sides and slipped under his shirt while he moved in waves and kept Roxas closeby, a hand on his waist and the other on his face, in his hair, drawing a line between the two of them and the rest of the crowd, their involvement exclusive and exclusionary. Open-mouthed kisses, teeth on his lip, tongue on Roxas’ palate, muffled noises that the booming music snuffed out and killed, but vibrations that resonated within their chests and shook their bones. An arm around his neck, Roxas on tip-toes again, practically hanging from his body, weight that his shoulders carried with no problem and his hands brought closer by the hips, bodies pushed together almost as if fused, Roxas’ face hard on his own, mouths locked together. There was a hunger to Roxas that grabbed his skin and bit his lip and rubbed on his cock and made him so hard that, by the end of the night, they were locked in a bathroom stall with Roxas’ face against the wall, shirt pulled halfway up his stomach, and his cock buried to the hilt. If his hands grabbed him a little too hard and left any marks on his hips, it was only a byproduct of his self-indulgence. He really hadn’t meant to do it. 

They met up with his friends outside, once the crowd had thinned out and the music selection had dropped below par, the sun was only about an hour away from rising and none of them were even remotely tired yet. His friends’ respective partners were all here tonight, not any occasion more special than a Saturday off, laughing stupidly and barely standing straight while waiting for the others on the sidewalk, near the entrance door. The two of them found the others easily enough, arms locked as they left, Roxas practically hanging from his elbow, tripping on himself. Cute, even if a little too drunk to remember anybody here, which honestly didn’t even matter, because Axel introduced him to everyone again, as if it were the first time, as if three of them hadn’t met him exactly when he had. Mixed reception from the crowd, to be honest, with half of it too drunk to even pay attention to them, going on about their business completely uninterrupted, while the other half held up noncommittal waves and greeted Roxas vaguely. 

“Where’s the afterparty?” Roxas asked, slurring horribly through his words, and leaning on his side for balance. 

“There’s no afterparty.” Aqua explained to him. “ _ This _ was the afterparty.”

“Tomorrow’s at our place.” Terra jumped in, swaying on his feet. “Seven p.m. You should come.” 

“I don’t know who you are.” 

That was when a brilliant idea hit him. 

“Roxas, where’s your phone?” 

A second of silence for Roxas to process what he had just said, and the phone was provided from a pocket in his jacket. The screen lit up and the apps on it were blurry, unstable, moving around in place somehow, and making it unnecessarily hard for him to find what he needed. Into the library, and Roxas had an extensive selection of apps on here, which made this a lot more convoluted than it needed to be. He found the one that he needed hidden in a corner five pages in while Roxas talked to his friends and didn’t absorb anything that they were saying, tapped on it, pulled up the number pad and typed in the one sequence that he had memorized so well. He gave the phone back with his name on Roxas’ contact list, and watched two baby blues stare blankly at it for a full ten seconds before registering what had just happened. 

“Did I just get your number?” 

“Yes. Text me for Terra’s address tomorrow.” 

“Who’s Terra?” 

“Me.” Indignation in his voice and snickering from his wife. “We’ve been talking since you got here.” 

Laughter from about everyone around them at that. 

The next day, he didn’t exactly remember having given Roxas his number, or Terra having invited him to the party tonight, and kind of spent the entire afternoon obsessing over what had happened at the end there, before coming home, his mind cutting out right after they had left the bathroom stall together. Would he even see Roxas again? He shouldn’t have drunk so much, but then again he thought that after every single party that he had ever attended, and, anyway, he felt that he wouldn’t have let Roxas leave without some sort of tie to pull him back, or to get pulled back instead;  _ something _ must’ve been done to see him again. He remembered a strong feeling, a resolution in his head that he’d never let Roxas go, and doing something about it, now he just hoped that he actually had; that this wasn’t all a fabrication to make him feel better. Doubtful of his fated reencounter, he even asked Demyx about it, if he had seen the two of them together at all, and, despite the eye roll that he got in return, part of his worries were quelled. It had actually happened. 

A few minutes before seven, and just before he took the stairs down three flights to his friends’ apartment, his phone rang with an unsaved number. Without a second thought, and pretty much out of instinct at this point, he answered, speaking dully because this was a goddamn Sunday, and his mind always resorted back to work whenever a stranger called. As he pulled the front door open, a voice that he recognized flooded through the speaker, light and sweet and so surprising that it stopped him halfway out the door, green eyes staring into the void of nothingness out of shock. Suddenly, he remembered giving Roxas his number. 

“Oh, this is actually you. For a second, I thought you… Whatever, it’s you. Hey.” 

“Thought I gave you the wrong number on purpose, huh? I’m not about that, Roxas; if I like you, I like you, bro.” 

“You do?” 

A grin, and he pulled the door shut behind himself. 

“You should know that by now. Are you coming tonight?” 

“If you give me an address, I might. I didn’t know the party was actually real; thought your friend was too fucked up to know what he was saying.” 

“And I thought you were too fucked up to remember what he said.” 

“I always remember everything. I’ve never had a blackout in my life.” 

“Sounds like you haven’t lived. We’re in Manhattan, by the way, so get ready to take the subway over here.” 

“Bold of you to assume I don’t have a car.” 

“Bold of you to want to drive after tonight. It’ll be a deathwish.” 

“How far are you guys from Central Park?” 

“About fifteen minutes. Probably twenty, if you’re taking the subway.” 

“I’m taking my yacht, thanks. Text me the address?” 

“Sure, just don’t forget your sailor hat; I like a man in uniform.” 

A chuckle, and he could picture Roxas’ smile perfectly. 

“Should I drink beforehand? Like, is this the afterparty?” 

“No, don’t worry about that; we got you.” 

“Alright. See you soon, then.” 

Music boomed out of Aqua’s apartment, with everybody from the building already there, and the best part of it was that there was no one left to really complain about the noise they were making, regardless of how far into the night they eventually decided to take this. Xemnas was the only stickler for seriousness around here, which, he guessed, was understandable up to a certain degree, but even if he decided to hit the sack early, there was no way that the penthouse would’ve been able to hear any of the music and talk from down here. They had done this for years, always at somebody’s place, and it had always been just fine. Aqua greeted him with a Manhattan, Demyx made him a Blue Lagoon, and Saix supplied him with beer while waiting for Roxas. He mostly stayed outside, on the balcony, chatting with Xigbar and Saix, sometimes Demyx, sometimes Aqua, and some of the other people who he wasn’t all that close to. The crowd came and went from the balcony, but there was always a handful of people smoking here, regardless. 

When Roxas arrived, he was surprised to find himself still comfortably buzzed, rather than flat-out drunk. It was a good change of pace from last night that put a smile on his face at Roxas’ appearance, watching him walk shyly into the balcony, doing his best to ignore the stares from all of the people that he didn’t know here. He came over for a hello with a drink in a hand and a beer in the other, so he must’ve run into Aqua on the way over. In fact, she must’ve been the one who had told him where to go. Axel introduced Roxas and Saix to each other for what must’ve been the third time, and felt that this one had actually stuck, because they weren’t so drunk yet. For good measure, Xigbar was introduced as well. 

“So you all work together?” Roxas asked, sipping politely on his drink, an astounding first for him. He must’ve been feeling out of place. 

“Yeah, we’re all peas in the same pod, kid. That’s what family is.” Xigbar answered. 

“You’re family?” A crease on Roxas’ brow, and his heart skipped. 

“Pretty much. Don’t you have any good friends from work?” He asked. 

“No, I don’t work.” 

“So you wouldn’t get it.” End of topic, start of a new one. “What do you think of Aqua’s Manhattan, huh? She makes the best one.” 

“You say that about anything that she’s ever made or done.” Saix jumped in through a scoff, beer can halfway up for a sip. “Kiss ass.” 

“Listen, it’s not my fault that she’s literally fucking perfect.” 

“Sounds like someone’s got a crush.” Roxas teased, a badly suppressed smirk on his face. 

He scoffed. 

“Rest assured that, if I liked women, Terra wouldn’t have stood a chance, bro.” 

“None, actually, because I would’ve given him something that he’d never have gotten from her.” 

“Is everyone here gay?” Roxas asked, amused, almost even delighted. 

“To a certain degree.” 

“We are.” Saix explained, a nod of the head to indicate Axel right beside him. “But he’s bi.” Hazel eyes focused on Xigbar for the last one. 

“There’s nothing in the world that’ll stop me from having a good time.” Xigbar shrugged. 

“Cheers to that, man.” A raised beer, and they toasted over Roxas’ head. 

It took Roxas his drink and a few more beers for him to finally relax and start getting into the groove of things, talking to people that he didn’t know, making friends with Axel’s friends, throwing bad jokes around and laughing at them, anyway; everybody else too drunk not to laugh with him, too. No one had the great idea of being an asshole to him tonight, probably because he was under Axel’s wing the entire time, and they all knew how he could get with these things, but it didn’t matter; he was glad that Roxas managed to enjoy himself, have some fun, and loosen up into the laid-back dude that he had met at the Brass a few weeks ago, confident, shameless, and nonchalant. They danced in the living room, smoked on the balcony, and picked up beers from the big ice container in the kitchen, sometimes getting drinks from Aqua, sometimes getting tequila shots from her husband. They made out on the dancefloor, on the balcony, in the kitchen, and when Roxas sat on the counter with him in between his thighs, he knew that it was time to go. The party would continue upstairs. At the invitation, Roxas grinned wide, took his arm, and followed him out. 

“ _ This _ is your place?” Roxas asked once they walked into the foyer, his bright blue eyes glancing all around himself, shiny and wide, as if he were in a fucking castle. It was kind of adorable. 

“Mine and Demyx’s. Used to be mine and Saix’s, until he moved to the penthouse.” Door closed, and he led Roxas to the bar, in the living room, one arch away. “Saix was a much better roommate, but I don’t get a say in that.” 

“Why not?” Roxas promptly took a seat at the bar and watched him, two blues that followed his hands as he took out two short glasses and a bottle of Jack from under the counter. 

“I don’t exactly give orders around here.” He loosely explained, two ice cubes in each glass and a shot of whiskey. “Do you like bourbon?” 

“I’ve never had it.” 

“Cheers, then.” 

A delicate clink, and they each sipped on a glass. The warmth of the drink burned down his throat, just how he liked it, and was possibly the reason behind Roxas’ face, not very pleased, a crease on his brow. He enjoyed the sweeter ones more, that had been made clear, but this was only for the sake of diversity. A scoffed out laugh, and he took another sip, watching Roxas push his own glass politely away from himself, the delicate manners of a dissatisfied little queen, all shoulders up and fingertips on the glass. He was really adorable. 

“Thank you, but I think I’ll stick to beers and mojitos instead.” 

“Which one do you want? I can make you anything.” 

“Anything?” Asked with a raise of the brows and a tilt of interest in his voice, a hand anchored on the bar to swing him back and forth on the stool. Cute. 

“Anything you want.” Low, smooth, staring straight into the blue of Roxas’ eyes, and if it sounded like he meant that in every single way possible, it was because he really, truly did. With fire burning in his stomach and alcohol making his head lighter, right now, he’d give Roxas the world. 

A glance back at the living room; at the six-seat long, L-shaped couch, the television mounted on the wall, the crystal-and-mahogany coffee table in between, the beige rug that extended from side-to-side, the potted plants in the back almost as tall as the room itself, the see-through curtains draped over the balcony doors, and Roxas turned back around, a sweet smile on his face. Axel could’ve kissed him a hundred times. 

“Can I have your couch?” 

As if he would’ve denied him anything. A tilt of the head, a motion of the hand, and Roxas hopped off the stool, going toward the center of the living room. The light switches were right next to him, so he flicked on the cove lights, a soft yellow glow that rounded the very edges of the ceiling, partly hidden, partly there. From the bar, and sipping on the rest of his drink, he watched Roxas step out of his shoes and slip out of his jacket, socketed feet walking onto the fuzzy rug, naked arms golden under the light. He took a seat on the couch, the very center one on the longer side of the L, and ran his feet over the rug, blue eyes scouting the room on the meanwhile, dazzled, bright. When they landed on his face, Roxas grinned, and his entire body burst into flames. He licked his lips and set his empty glass down on the bar. 

“I know what this is.” Small, soft, almost lost in the space between them. 

“What’s that?” He asked, circling the bar to close some of the distance. 

“You’re trying to buy me.” 

He scoffed out a laugh. 

“Baby, I did that when we first met. We’re way past it by now.” 

Blue eyes squinted as he walked over and took the seat directly next to his guest, twisted around to stare squarely at him, an elbow on the backrest and that hand cupping his own chin in interest. A small crease in between Roxas’ eyebrows, unsure, insecure, and if he were a little less numbed out from drinking all night, he would’ve registered that with more of a thought than absolutely none. 

“What’s this, then?” 

“Us getting to know each other. I thought it was pretty obvious.” 

The crease was gone, replaced by interest; baby blues that glinted under the yellow glow and watched him curiously. On his face, a lazy half-smile. 

“What do you want to know about me?” 

“Whatever you want to tell me.” 

A soft hum, a moment of deliberate thought. 

“If I tell you something about me, then you’ll have to tell me something about you, too.” 

“Deal.” 

Through a crack between the balcony glass doors, a cool breeze blew in, making the curtains flutter lightly, the distant sounds of the outside traffic being dragged by the wind as the background to their conversation. Roxas told him of his love for partying; getting out, meeting people, spending time together, being part of something. They had that in common, clearly, but what did he mean by that last part? Well, blue eyes cast off to the side, back at the bar over Axel’s shoulder. Sheepish? Inside a club, when a popular song came on, one that everybody knew the lyrics to, and the entire club cheered right at its first chords, and rushed to the dancefloor to catch it, and dozens and dozens of people raised their voices into a loud, drunken choir to the lyrics of some shitty pop song that no one even liked that much, that was just overplayed everywhere, but that they all knew it, and they all sang it, and the beat sounded in their chests, and, in that moment, they all had something in common; united, a single mass, a community. Did Axel know what he meant? Like they were all together in this very same feeling, the communal goal of singing a song that they all knew, and it felt important, like he belonged somewhere, even if it was for only about three and a half minutes; it meant more to him than anything else. Being part of a crowd in a club, or a crowd at a bar, or a crowd in someone’s apartment; it made him feel included. 

Yeah, yeah, he got that; he just, well. He had never really thought of it that way, like it was such a huge deal. Roxas shrugged; he usually saw things differently than other people, it was fine. Things had varying impacts on him, and no one really shared those feelings, and that was fine. He had a notebook for that reason, where he recorded his thoughts and turned them into music. That was awesome; did he know how to sing? Yes, actually, but he wasn’t going to do it right now. Fair enough, maybe some other time. Maybe. Did Axel do something like that? Like, writing, or journaling, or something? No, he wasn’t very artistic. To reiterate, he was a Business Major, but he always admired that trait in others. Demyx played the bass sometimes, and when it echoed through the apartment it sounded really, really nice. Did Roxas play any instruments? The guitar. He was saving up for an electric one, but it wasn’t exactly cheap; it’d take a minute. Maybe another birthday and he’d get it. Well, when was his birthday? In the worst month of the year, December; in the limbo period between Christmas and the New Year, when nobody was in town, and the passage of time felt especially fake. Huh, a Capricorn. Axel had never dated a Capricorn before. A blink, blonde eyebrows raised, blue eyes wide; were they dating? 

His body was struck in place as if by two lightnings and a moving truck simultaneously, sending him reeling, heart racing. Oh, fuck. Oh,  _ fuck _ . Absolutely nothing left his mouth; he couldn’t even move. There wasn’t even anything to say, really; nothing positive, anyway, because, no, they weren’t, and no, they weren’t going to, but feelings were welcome when they were together, and hit him hard, pumping in his heart, running down his veins, just didn’t necessarily remain when they were apart, each one off to live their own, separate lives. How the fuck would he even have explained that? He wouldn’t. 

A small smile on Roxas’ face, not sincere, but not forced, either; an emotion behind it that he couldn’t figure out, and Roxas was just fucking with him. He didn’t actually expect an answer. A weak laugh from him, though it was more like something between a sigh and a breath, because, really, they’ve only known each other for a few days; suggesting that was crazy. He did like him, though. Roxas shrugged, leaning back onto his seat, blue eyes cast off somewhere else. Did he hurt him?, he didn’t ask. A blink, and Roxas was looking back at him, eyes low, down at his body. Alright. 

“You know, I think I’d enjoy this conversation more if you had your shirt off.” 

That was only the very first step on a series of follow-up requests that ended with their clothes thrown carelessly across the rug and Roxas giving him head; pretty blue eyes watching him from below, rosy cheeks hollowing out from perseverance. He never went too deep, just kind of worked the head and crown instead, sometimes a little past it, down the shaft a bit, but no real deep-throating, no incredible effort. Lazy, but present; all tongue and lips, no teeth; laid-back and casual and he could appreciate that. Fingers ran through the locks of Roxas’ hair, brushed his emo bangs up his forehead, and didn’t force him down, didn’t make him gag. Normally, he would, but didn’t feel like it tonight. It was nice, Roxas was nice, his lips were soft, and when he started sucking faster, deeper, actually getting into it, Axel grabbed him by the arm and pulled him up for a kiss.

Messy, open-mouthed, his tongue deeper down Roxas’ throat than his dick ever was; Roxas sat on his lap, grabbed his neck, grinded on his cock, and he could’ve stayed here all fucking night. Two hands on Roxas’ thighs, sinking into their meat as he thrusted against the fabric of Roxas’ boxers, holding him down, moving with him, and Roxas smirked into the kiss, a groan practically up his throat. This guy was too fucking hot. 

It didn’t take long for him to have Roxas laying on the couch, and two hands tugging on his underwear, which, again, was protested because of the lights. Turn them off, a meek command that verged on stern, but never really hit it. Why?, he wanted to ask, but didn’t. What was the big fucking deal? Instead, he flipped Roxas over, pushed his face onto the cushions, and pulled his boxers off that way. He didn’t seem to mind it then, bottom lip in between teeth, face a dark red, a glint in his eye. He liked that. A princess that liked to be dominated was literally his specialty, and he showed that tonight, giving Roxas exactly what he wanted, a perfect combination of savagery and attention; an exploration of just how much Roxas could take, and how much he wanted to get pushed past his limits. Axel was nice, putting Roxas first, doing everything the way that he liked it, studying his body and the way that he shivered, bit his lip, shut his eyes. Far quieter this time around, with none of what had come across like fake, empty moans pushed out just to please, making the ones that did happen a lot more valuable, a lot more real. It made reading him a lot easier, too, when he wasn’t trying to stroke Axel’s ego, and, instead, just let himself naturally respond to Axel’s touch, kisses, nibbles. He could’ve never forgotten their first time, and gave Roxas’ neck the treatment it deserved, drinking up the groans that were his reward, and how Roxas pushed back against him, a hand firm on his thigh. Thrusting in deep, he listened to Roxas hiss, moans swallowed down messily with his pride. It was kind of delicious. 

Curiosity killed the cat, and, just before they were about done, he flipped Roxas over, just to glance him down, just to know what it was that made him so self-conscious. Getting thoroughly fucked, Roxas couldn’t give a shit about that; both hands clung to the skin on Axel’s back and his face hid itself in the crook of Axel’s neck, teeth occasionally biting, mouth mostly muffling moans on his body. He angled them good, with Roxas’ hips up against his own, meeting with him off the couch, and he saw them, the scars; more, bright, thick on his inner thighs, rubbing on his skin as their bodies moved, Roxas’ cock pushed to the low of his stomach, warm, thrusting against him. His jaw set, the hand on Roxas’ hip tightened the grip on him, and a shiver ran down his spine, chilling, making both of his arms burn. Fuck. He buried his face into the mess of blonde locks that was Roxas’ hair, closed his eyes, and focused on what was actually important: getting Roxas off. He shouldn’t have looked. The nails in his back stung, the muffled moans on his neck turned into muffled whimpers, and Roxas begged to cum, small and quiet against his skin, but nothing that he would’ve ever ignored. Like a merciful God, he closed a fist around Roxas’ cock and granted his wish. 

After they were done, Roxas was sort of ready to leave. He got up from the couch and quietly collected his things from the floor, a sight that put a knot in Axel’s stomach and closed a tightness around his chest, so fucking heartbreaking that he couldn’t even watch, like a homeless puppy going back to the kennels. Instead of letting Roxas leave, though, because he just absolutely couldn’t, he reached a hand to him, brushed the back of his fingers along his forearm, and asked him to stay. Wide blues promptly stared back at him at that, big with surprise, as if Roxas had well expected to get kicked out, but not invited to spend the night. It was uncommon, he’d admit as much, for anyone to hang around after that, but, at this point, Roxas wasn’t a one-night stand anymore, or even much of a stranger; if anything, he was quickly becoming a friend, and watching him leave the place like a cheap prostitute didn’t feel right, especially not after opening up about his loneliness, how desperately he wished to be part of something. No; Axel took his arm, and gently pulled him back to the couch, where they lay together, with Roxas on his chest, and his clothes back on the floor. A hand brushed soft, blonde hair, and fingers ran through the locks, touching Roxas’ scalp, giving him attention. He thought of the scars and felt his arms sting, the one around Roxas’ back holding him closer, pulling him into a half-hug over his chest, heart squeezing, pumping tight. He didn’t know what Roxas was going through, but he knew the sort of mindset that drew someone to do that, and it wasn’t a good one. Even after this long, he still avoided thinking about it; the dark, upsetting portion of his past. Somehow, he wished to get Roxas out of it, too. 

They left the living room for a shower, because if Roxas was staying the night, then he was going to need one, anyway, and there really was no reason as to why they shouldn’t share it, especially when Roxas didn’t know how to work the water. With their clothes left in the bedroom, they stepped into its connecting bathroom, Axel’s room a suite that made things a lot more convenient for when he didn’t feel like seeing his roommate’s face. Every time they walked into a new room, Roxas glanced all around himself as if in a Disney movie, starry-eyed and awed, making him even more adorable, and Axel’s heart ache in different ways. Even the bathroom dazzled him, probably because of the marble floors and the glass shower enclosure placed exactly in the middle of it, potted plants in a corner, a wide sink and its marble counter in the other; a jacuzzi, a toilet, a window. The spotlights over the sink made it all look far more chic in the dull, muted gold that they colored the bathroom with, but had Roxas’ eyes shining regardless. He stepped into the shower, and, just as Axel was about to join him, his phone rang; he could hear it from the bathroom, no doors closed. He turned the shower on for Roxas, and promised to be back soon, his mind already reverting back to work, and what kind of asshole Russian might’ve been calling him at this hour. In the bedroom, he grabbed his phone from the floor only to learn that it was Demyx calling him instead. Fucking dickhead. 

“What do you want?” Thoroughly vexed and not caring to hide it; they knew each other that well. 

“Hey, sorry for interrupting your fuck-fest; I just wanna go grab some weed from my room, so if you could clear out the rest of the place to spare me a view full of your ass, I’d be thankful.” 

An eye roll, and he closed the bedroom door. There. 

“It’s all clear, bitch.” 

“Cool. Are you coming back to the party? I’ll save you some.” 

“No.” A shake of the head, even if Demyx couldn’t see it, and he stopped by the bathroom door, leaning a shoulder onto the frame. From behind the partially steamed-up glass, Roxas gave him a smile that warmed up his entire chest. “I don’t think we’re going back down.” 

“Alright, just let go of him soon, or I’ll think you have something going on.” 

A scowl, and his heart squeezed, throat closing up. Staring at Roxas from the doorway, he studied the shine of his hair, the white of his skin, glistening gold under the water, perfect; the daintiness of his movements, how delicately he ran his fingers through his hair, how brilliantly the water traveled down his face, dragged down his neck, and raced through his body; the sparkle in his eyes and how cheerful they seemed when staring back at him, a delicate smile on his face, a carefree sort of enjoyment to him that put a warmth in Axel’s heart and had him breathing deeper. Somehow, he knew that that smile on Roxas’ face and the calm that he seemed to be feeling were the only things that really mattered. 

“Nothing’s going on, man.” Quiet, small, hurtful, and did he even mean it? It was true, and it was right, so why did it scrape his throat on the way out and stab his heart right through? He was fucking drunk. 

“No, I know, I know; I’m just saying. You know the rules.” 

He knew the rules. 

“Come get your fucking weed, dude.” The press of a button, and the call ended. 

“Who was it?” Roxas asked as he joined him under the falling water, blue eyes bright, looking up at him, the ghost of a smile on his face. A hand to cup Roxas’ jaw, and he kissed that smile into existence. 

“No one.” Spoken in the small distance between them, between kisses along Roxas’ jaw, and down his neck. “I believe it’s your turn.” 

With him down on his knees, Roxas didn’t last five minutes. It was kind of fucking adorable. 

What should’ve been Roxas sleeping soundly in his bed for the night ended up being the two of them laying in the dark, talking for hours on end instead. Did he know that Roxas was an only child? And that he lived with his aunt’s family in Astoria, but knew that that wouldn’t last too much longer. Had he moved from White Plains for school? Pretty much, but not really. A touch, fingertips lightly running up Axel’s forearm. Axel was adopted. Really? Yeah, when he was fourteen years old; a guy caught him shoplifting at a Walmart and decided that that was exactly who he wanted in his life. Fucked up, huh? But turned out being very on par with the rest of the family, all thugs and criminals. Not so bad, though. Did Axel get involved in that shit? Yeah, it was unavoidable, and it paid. Was Xigbar his dad? What the fuck? Deep, throaty laughter from the center of his chest. No! Well, sorry! It was just that Xigbar had said all that stuff about being family, and it had messed him up. No, Xigbar was brought into the business much later on; it was just that everybody was so close to each other that it felt like family. Oh, sorry. No, he wasn’t all that wrong; Demyx was adopted, too, and so were a couple of others. Saix and Aqua got in a few years later, and Aqua brought in Terra. Who was the dad? Well, technically, Xemnas, but nobody called him dad. That was fucked up. Was he at the party? Yes, but he didn’t think that Roxas had seen him. Huh, so they  _ were _ kind of a family. A pause, the fingertips that traced his arm ran up to his hand and grabbed it in a firm hold, Roxas’ palm warm on his own. 

His family sounded nice. 


	3. Severed

Their involvement didn’t exactly end that night. It should have, but they had each other’s numbers, and their time together had been so nice, so different from all the others; it had been refreshing to experience something new, to share his bed with someone else, to wake up with his face buried in soft, blonde hair and a warm body against his own, sleeping in his arms. He couldn’t remember a time when that had happened, and it had been so pleasant, it put him in such a specific mood that he couldn’t stop thinking about it, as if his body moved lighter now, easier to walk, the air around him filling up his lungs with each breath. It was… Different. New. In the office, between searches and data gathering, a memory flash of Roxas' hair, the scent of lavender and cypress up his nose, and his chest grew warmer. During an assignment, a tail close to Astoria, his eyes lingered on the exit sign to 31st Avenue, and he almost fucking took it. A thought of Roxas in his house, lying on his bed, the softness of his skin, the warmth of his body, and he almost missed the actual exit that he had to take. At the gym, taking a break from cardio, he saw a guy that looked so much like Roxas that he whipped right around like an idiot just to stare, just to make sure, but the height was off, and the muscles were too many. His friends quickly caught onto his clownery and laughed, half-expecting to watch him follow the guy into the bathroom next, but he didn't. The disappointment was such that all he could do was miss Roxas and wish he were here. 

In fact, he thought of Roxas so much throughout the week that he couldn't stop himself from texting him on Thursday afternoon, just something stupid, of no significance, but that was reciprocated almost immediately with something else, and a back-and-forth began, slipping into the evening, crawling into the night. They texted each other goodnight, and, on Friday morning, he called him. Roxas didn't pick up, must've been busy, and only called back late afternoon, which was just as fine, because all he wanted to do was invite him to a party tonight. Then, another one tomorrow. Then, one more after that. Roxas attended all three, drank and danced like a professional, and met with him in a bathroom stall, in someone’s living room, in a dark kitchen, in his bedroom, in his bathroom; not in any specific order, or any specific day. It was infatuating to be near him, to hear his laughter and watch him smile and kiss his face. Axel didn't think that he could've ever gotten tired of it, and his friends began to realize that, too. Were they in a relationship? Demyx asked that Monday night, in the quiet of their flat, over a glass of water and some aspirin. God, no. They weren't. His heart stung and twisted at the words, but it was true; they really weren't. Was he sure?, because even Xemnas was starting to notice something. Yes, he was sure, but what did Xemnas say? A suspicious squint from Demyx, and the glass was put down. Nothing that he wanted to know. 

Oh, he wanted to know. More than anything, he wanted to know that, but kept himself from asking a single word, because if he wasn't supposed to hear it, then there was a reason why. He passed Xemnas in the halls with an unscratched itch behind his throat and unsaid words on his tongue, green eyes flicking at his boss for just a second, hazel eyes staring straight ahead. On Tuesday night, and unable to contain himself for even another second, he went to Saix about it, still sitting at his desk after hours, the only one who spent a proper amount of time in this office. He took a seat on the corner of Saix's desk and watched the vexed jump of his brow at it, the scowl on his forehead that formed from his presence, ugly under the scar. An unnecessary clearing of the throat just to be more of an ass, and what did Xemnas think of Roxas? Two eyes that would've burned him at the stake if they could closed for a moment, Saix holding onto what little self-control still managed to cling to him this late on a week-night. Well?, he pushed, being more of a deliberate asshole. Annoyed hazel eyes glanced up at him, piercing. 

"What do you think, dumbass? Bringing this kid into the building, having him around all goddamn weekend, introducing him to the family and letting him make _friends_ with idiots like Xigbar and Demyx. What the _fuck_ are you thinking? You know the rules." 

"I know, I know; I don't mean anything by it, I just think he's chill. He's a good guy." 

"Exactly, so why do you want him  _ here,  _ with people like us? If Xemnas catches wind of that, you know there’s no turning back. You’ll bring him in just like Aqua brought in Terra. There’s no escape, Axel; if he’s a good guy, then stop seeing him immediately.” 

With a scowl and a click of the tongue, he left Saix’s office, but only because he was right, and everything he said was true. They weren’t supposed to get involved with anyone, unless they could trust that person to be in the business, and he  _ knew _ that; he had known that very well since the whole Terra situation had happened, and for as much as he didn’t want Roxas taking any part of this, or being even remotely involved with the business side of things, he wasn’t really ready to kill what they had just yet. Which was nothing, truly, but his heart beat deeper when he thought of him, and his chest grew warmer when they were together, and he wasn’t ready to give that up yet. He didn’t want to. It probably wouldn’t go anywhere, anyway; he just wanted to see it through to the end, because, if he didn’t, then he knew that he’d never forgive himself, and he’d never stop wondering what would’ve happened. He needed closure, and he kind of got it inadvertently. 

Aqua was with him when it happened. On 31st Avenue, after their separate assignments, and because they both happened to be in the same area, they got together for a walk; he needed somebody to talk to, and if it happened to be with the only one who had ever understood him, then he’d be the last person to complain about it. They met up near Boulevard Gardens and walked up the avenue together, toward Astoria, his heart leaping with the knowledge that Roxas lived nearby; only a couple of blocks away, actually, past this high school coming up. She immediately knew that something was wrong, because he didn’t usually want to talk about anything, not during the day, and not without everybody else, either; the only times that that had happened, when he had specifically asked for  _ her _ companionship had been to share big, big news, and she wasn’t wrong to expect something of the same caliber today. As they walked, he told her about the conversation with Saix last night, what he had said about Xemnas, and the involvement with the business. Saix had been right, he admitted, and he wasn’t going to disagree with him at all, he just, well, he just needed some moral support here, someone to make him  _ want _ to do the right thing, because, right now, what he really wanted to do was run up this avenue and knock on Roxas’ front door. A curious look from Aqua at that. Did Roxas live around here? He answered her just as the high school up ahead opened its gates and let all of the kids out, flooding the sidewalk, walking to their respective buses. What a fucking pain in the ass. 

“He lives two blocks from here.” He explained, absently watching the teenagers cross just a few feet away from them and obstruct any passage along the sidewalk. Together, in an unspoken agreement, they stopped walking, because there was really no graceful way to get through that crowd, and, to be honest, they’d rather wait here anyway, a safe distance away from it all. It was fine; they had a few minutes to spare. It was nearly the end of the day. 

“You really care about him, huh.” She commented in passing, almost absently. “I’ve never seen you hang around someone for this long. The most it’s ever lasted was, what, two days?” 

He shrugged, it didn’t matter. 

“I'm not supposed to, so." 

"I think you should talk to him; explain what's going on. Obviously, not  _ all _ of it, just enough to protect him, and keep him at a safe distance from the business." 

The mere thought ground his teeth and set his jaw, because, no, he didn't want to limit his time with Roxas, and, no, he didn't want to freak him out with all of this, but, again, as always, Aqua was right; they should talk, at least that. He should come clean, or almost all clean, and put Roxas first. It really wasn't fair what he was doing, anyway, not telling Roxas who he was getting involved with, and what he could possibly be getting himself into, even if by total accident, and not his fault at all. A deep exhale, and he opened his mouth to answer her, to agree with her and try to make himself want to do it, when he saw him, and lightning struck him a thousand times upside the head, a blow strong enough to kill him where he stood, and, God, for half a second there, he really, really wished for it. Green eyes locked with blue, both pairs wider than the moon, Roxas' face pale enough to be considered a legal corpse, and he couldn't move a muscle, planted where he stood, Roxas immoble as well, by the iron gates, just barely aside from the flowing crowd. A heartbeat, two, and Roxas broke the stare, literally taking off into a run and hopping inside one of the parked school buses by the curb. 

Axel felt as if he didn't have a single drop of blood left in his body. 

"Oh, you definitely need to talk to him." Aqua commented from his left, her tone different now, indicating something else, and they both knew what it was. 

For a brief moment, he wished that he were in front of oncoming traffic. 

After they parted ways, he went straight back to the office, and looked up Roxas' name within his school's database, which was so ridiculously easy to access that it almost even felt legal. First things first, he checked Roxas' birthday; seventeen years old. Half a breath, and only a portion of relief, because even if he was of the age of consent, he was still, legally, a minor; the drinking, the partying, the clubs… Fuck. A pounding headache immediately overtook him and made him wish for death one more time, for good measure. A basic ass search of Roxas’ name for his legal background, and he found out that his father was estranged, his mother had died four years ago, and he had since been living with an aunt from his mother’s side, her father, her husband, and their four children, all of which were around Roxas’ age. They didn’t live on 31st at all, but way up north, practically by the bay. He leaned back onto his chair, head splitting into smithereens; everything that Roxas had told him had been lies, and he had been none the wiser. He hadn’t even suspected him, or any of what he had said; Roxas was just that fucking believable, lying to a professional liar. That would’ve been impressive, if it wasn’t incredibly infuriating instead. Pulling out his phone, he blocked and erased Roxas’ number, just to be safe, just to make sure that they’d never cross paths again. A deep, deep sigh, and he got up for a painkiller. 

The days that followed felt strange, both heavy and empty, even if they were ultimately indifferent from the norm; regular work at the office, regular work outside; intel gathering on some treasonous bastard, intel gathering on some cheating asshole; long hours spent at his desk, and overtime done for the first time in his life, just because going home at the end of the day felt unappealing, being alone in his car felt even more unappealing, and doing both of those things while having to deal with his own thoughts was, perhaps, the most unappealing notion of all. He thought of Roxas constantly, and tried not to think of him at all; the lies, the deceit, their very nice time spent together, everything that Roxas had told him, everything that he had said in return, unknowing, unsuspecting. It stung, it cooled his veins, and it set his jaw, so he filled his time with tasks not to think about it. Roxas was only a child. God, Roxas was only a child. Knocking back the rest of his coffee, he rubbed at his eyes and sat back down on his chair. There was filing to be done and reports to be filled out, yet he once again found himself deep in a search of the Spéir family instead, how little they made from working two part-time jobs each, the aunt and uncle the only ones that supported the family, their four children going to public school and getting picked up for shoplifting from Walmart and smoking pot in unlit parking lots. Roxas himself had a plethora of tardies and absences in his school record and dozens of curfew violations, following the family tradition, surely getting along with his cousins just fine. The first time that they had met, Roxas asking to get dropped off on 31st Street; he must’ve gone to class right after that. His heart skipped, and he got up for another cup of coffee. The faster he stopped thinking about that, the better, or he was going to drive himself crazy. A full cup of coffee, a smoke break, and he’d spend the night at the office. 

Friday ended up being the only day of that week that he actually left on time, because going out with his friends was, somehow, always at the top of his to-do list, and he didn’t think that any amount of stressing out or overthinking could’ve changed that. By six p.m. that evening, he had parked at the building, and not thirty seconds later, his phone rang in his pocket, the reception desk on his caller ID. They called him so rarely that he couldn’t remember the last time, and picked up while crossing the parking lot for the elevators. If there was a problem, then he’d stop by the reception desk right now. 

“Mr. Lea, do you have a moment? It’d be in your best interest to come by as soon as you can.” 

He scowled, walking into the empty elevator. 

“What’s going on?” 

“I think it’s best if you judge it for yourself.” 

What the fuck? With a quick agreement, he ended the call and pushed the lobby button. The receptionists were never that cryptic, and he found it hard to imagine a situation that would’ve called for such an approach, especially at the entrance of a building in the heart of Manhattan, but alright; he’d judge it for himself. They had guards outside, and Xemnas was the one who dealt with the intricacies of owning an entire lot, but whatever; they wanted  _ him _ specifically, so he’d show up. Getting off at the ground floor, he walked up to the reception desk in a few long strides, with two palms up and a scowl on his face. 

“What is it?” He asked, watching the receptionist answer him nonverbally in return, with a look and a pointed bounce of the brows instead, indicating the waiting area by the corner, with the couches and the armchairs. So it was that delicate of a situation, then, where the man had thought best to not even say a single word about it. He turned to glance at the couch, and was immediately shot in the heart with bolts of electricity, eyes wide and hands cold; Roxas was there. 

Shit. 

Blue eyes wide, wider than he had ever seen them, under a deep scowl that tugged upward along with his heart strings; worried, maybe even afraid. Roxas stood in front of the couch, as if he had just sprung from it, with a black jacket slipping off a shoulder and a backpack hanging over the other. Had he come here straight from school? The thought alone closed up Axel’s throat and squeezed his stomach out of bile. He was going to be fucking sick. 

“God, why are you here?” Low and angry, edging on a whisper as an attempt to keep this private, without the involvement of the reception desk. 

At that, two baby blues promptly watered, and he immediately knew that he had used the wrong tone with him. 

“I need to talk to you. I’m sorry, I just don’t know how to reach you otherwise, and, and it’s fine; you don’t have to unblock me, I just need five minutes with you,  _ please.” _ Roxas’ voice practically cracked at the last word, unspilled tears filling a wall over his eyes, making their blue brighter, deeper, and stabbing Axel right through the heart. Goddammit, he was fucking pissed; the last thing that he wanted to do was see Roxas’ fucking face right now, or ever again, for that matter, but hearing the desperation in his voice, and seeing the fear in his face,  _ still _ his chest ached for him, bleeding to close the distance between them with a hug, to hold him so tightly in his arms that all wounds would’ve been patched from it, tears dried, and heart mended. He would, too, if circumstances were different. If he hadn’t been lied to.

“Axel, I’m not a kid. I’m seventeen.” Roxas explained, with both hands crossed over his heart, squeezing each other as if swearing by his words, eyes wide with fear. It was genuine, or, at least, it looked like it was; he’d never really be able to tell the difference, though it still couldn’t keep him from scoffing, because that was just fucking rich; Roxas was literally just that, a kid. His scorn deepened the scowl on Roxas’ forehead and colored his face red, blue eyes swimming in a pool of tears. “I’m telling you the truth this time, I promise. I’m, I’m sorry for not telling you earlier, I…” A pause, a swallow. His lips trembled. “Axel, I’ve been on my own for years; I know what I’m doing. You have to trust me.” 

“I can’t.” Voice stern and much louder than he had intended it to be, practically echoing off the walls, making him cringe. He could feel the reception desk’s attention burn the side of his face at it; this entire showdown being very carefully watched from only a couple dozen feet away, and something that he had to change immediately. Roxas opened his mouth to debate that, but he cut him off before he could. “Can you please follow me? Let’s not do this here.” 

Without another word, Roxas towed after him across the lobby, past the elevators, and into a meeting room at the end of the hallway. The ground floor had two of those for Xemnas’ impromptu business meetings after hours, and one big room for special events and huge parties, which they used a lot more than they were probably supposed to, and a lot more than the meeting rooms, too. After Roxas walked in, he closed the door and stood by it, because this wasn’t going to take very long. 

“Listen, whatever your reasons are to do what you do, I don’t care.” He started, voice low and stern, entirely composed, even though he understood Roxas and his motivations on a deeply personal level. Right now, that wasn’t the point. “You’re a minor, Roxas, and I’m not going to associate with you anymore. It’s as simple as that.” 

“I’ll be eighteen in forty days!” 

“It doesn’t matter. Currently, it doesn’t change anything. You know you should’ve fucking told me that earlier, and I know I should’ve pushed you for it, but it doesn’t matter now, does it?” 

The austerity of his voice had the tears over Roxas’ eyes finally run down his face, the red of his cheeks glistening as they dropped. It hurt to watch, like ten thousand stabs to the chest, but he had to do this. It was the right thing. 

“I’m not seeing you anymore.” 

“No, Axel--” 

“What we had is over, Roxas. It should’ve never even happened in the first place, and you  _ know _ that.” 

“I wanted to tell you, I really did! I just, I was afraid that this was going to happen.” Tears streamed down round and rosy cheeks, cutting through him and closing up his throat. “I can’t lose you; please, you’re the only one that I have.” 

“You have an entire fucking family.” 

“No…” Hands over blue eyes, rubbing at them as Roxas sobbed, and it sliced his heart into a million fucking pieces. “No, Axel, please… Please.” 

With his jaw set, he opened the door. 

“It’s time to go, Roxas.” 

A sob, and Roxas trembled where he stood, covering his face in both of his hands, pushing the heels of his palms against his eyes. His shoulders shook as he whimpered, failed attempts at muffling his sobs, and it hurt so fucking much to watch, it was so fucking upsetting to see that he felt his own eyes water at the sight, a knot in his throat. He wasn’t going to do this right now, especially not down here, and breathed in deep to keep it down, watching Roxas sniffle and rub at his face while walking out, slowly, his entire body shaking. It took all of himself to not touch him; to not pull him into a hug and kiss the top of his head with promises of it getting better, because it wouldn’t get better, and there was nothing to do about it. He didn’t comfort him or apologize, and simply closed the door as they left, Roxas’ sniffling loud in the vacant hallway, the elevator chimes muted in comparison. 

He didn’t see Roxas out, and simply took an elevator to the second to last floor instead. To his luck, Demyx wasn’t home yet, and the tears that were spilled against the front door went unseen, heart bleeding from the very center. If lighting struck him in two right now, it would’ve been less painful than this. A gunshot would’ve been less painful than this. He took his grief to the shower, expunged it from his soul, then cloaked himself under a few layers of Creed and a new pair of Diesel jeans before daring to walk out of his room, impassiveness personified, a perfectly straight face with cold, dry, dead eyes. He met up with Demyx in the kitchen, poured the two of them a couple of starter shots, and took the elevator down. Tonight was going to either kill him, or get him killed, and that was just how he wanted it. A chime, the elevator doors opened at the ground floor, and a brief thought cut through him like a bullet, planting him onto the elevator mat. No breath in his lungs, a quick glance, and the hallway was empty; Roxas was gone. An exhale, and he followed Demyx out, vaguely listening to him talk on the phone, hyping everybody up for tonight. They crossed the lobby for the front doors, but he didn’t make it out just yet. Stopping for a second, he reassured his friend that he’d only be a minute, that Dem could wait for him outside. Alright, and Demyx left, still on the phone. 

Alone in the lobby, he approached the reception desk. 

“Please ban Roxas Spéir from all future visits, as well as any approach to the building.” Voice nice and even, without a single trace of emotion in it. The receptionist gave him a look at that, but very cleverly said nothing, and, instead, nodded in understanding. 

“Of course, Mr. Lea. That will no longer be an issue.” 

“Thank you.” 

The club greeted them with loud, booming music overhead and hundreds of strangers all crammed together in the same space, rubbing up on each other as they danced, and elbowing the crowd to get through it. Upon entering, he immediately slipped into the dancing mass and parted ways from his friends, quickly getting himself lost in the crowd, staying very consciously away from the others. He didn’t want to see a single familiar face tonight, only exclude himself from the world, drink the entire bar down, and possibly get hit by a car on the way home. He drank throughout the entire night, dancing with a glass in hand, making impersonal and nonverbal connections with beer in his possession, coming and going just to keep moving, and not feeling absolutely anything; for the first time all month, being completely fucking numb. It was perfect. He did shots, ordered drinks, made out with strangers, let them touch him, decided not to touch them back, shot some coke in the bathroom, felt neon lights blind him, felt the beat of the music dictate his heartbeat, moved along with the crowd, became one with every person around him, and made absolutely no memories of that night. It was empty, and pointless, and exactly what he needed. His skin burned, he sweated, the lights were too hot on him, and by the time he left, he didn’t remember any of it, though, deep inside, he knew that he had been cleansed of something, even if not cured of it. Outside, he couldn’t feel the wind on his face, or the cold on his fingers; he rounded the club corner, got into an alleyway, and vomited his soul out. It felt like a blessing. 

He woke up on the couch with a splitting headache and a void in his chest. It was afternoon, the warm sun filtered in through the crack on the balcony doors and lit up the ceiling, the see-through curtains swayed with the breeze, and the outside city sounds came in muffled, distant, like whispers in the wind. He breathed in, out, felt his body ache everywhere, his head beg to get guillotined off, his stomach avidly try to jump out of his mouth, and accepted it. Nothing was wrong, except nothing was right, either. In the distance, a conversation; soft voices muffled by rooms and walls, a woman and a man talking. Aqua must’ve been here. That was the only thing that made him want to get up from the couch right now and make his head pound worse against his skull, trying to split it open with a hammer, but wielding it upside-down. He stood on legs that ached and made his way out of the living room, slowly, carefully, listening to the voices become steadily clearer the closer he got to them. Across the foyer, he could identify them coming from the kitchen; Aqua talking to Demyx and Saix. He walked in to meet with them, and had all three turn to look at him in greeting, surprise of varying degrees on their faces, as if he had just come back from the dead. Over Aqua’s head, the clock read five p.m.

“We missed you over lunch.” Aqua commented, voice sweet, soft. He crossed in front of her for the fridge. 

“Yeah, I bet.” 

“We missed you at the club, too.” Saix, not as sweet, and the opposite of soft. “Where were you all night?” 

“Communing with the old gods of pop.” He spoke while reaching into the fridge and pulling out a water bottle. Top unscrewed, and drinking from it was closer to orgasmic than ecstasy could’ve ever wished to be. 

His friends all shared a look at that, and, strangely, Demyx didn’t say a word to him. He didn’t say anything to him, either, didn’t ask about it, and simply left for his room with the water bottle in hand. A shower screamed his name. 

He felt nothing all weekend. They went from party to party, bar to bar, bar to party, and he made about three memories all weekend long, sleeping the entire day through, eating about half a meal, and spending most of his waking hours clubbing, drinking, numbing himself. He didn’t go back to using, not really; this weekend was an open exception, and where he drew the line, too. Literally, figuratively; he told himself that on Sunday night while pushing a needle in his vein, the last one for now, or at least until next week, and when he promised himself something, he usually kept it. Usually being the keyword solely because of outside influences, but when it was a simple deal with his damn self, it was hard for him to break it, meaning that next week came, ran him over like a truck, and he simply let it happen, thinking about the upcoming weekend already, and where they would party next. It was a familiar feeling, and the dark hole that he knew so well, getting through the week just to wreck himself over the weekend, but it was a step above rock bottom, and definitely not the worst thing that he had ever done. Life had been going far too well for a while now; if he didn’t relapse at some point, something was wrong, so this was more than expected, and didn’t take him by surprise at all. Sure, it was still deeply upsetting to see all that progress go to waste, and know that he’d have to climb that wall all over again, but that was a problem for later. Right now, he had the weekend to look forward to. 

That didn’t last long. On the third Saturday of his bullshit, as he pulled a shirt over his head to complete the look, a click sounded, his bedroom door opening to reveal Aqua behind it, peeking in. He was dressed and practically ready to go, so she walked in without invitation, and closed the door behind herself. She had only ever been in his room once before, after one of his big, big reveals, and had proceeded to save his fucking life. He had a feeling that she was about to do that again. 

“You’re not going tonight.” She announced in her nice, stern, mom voice, even though he was pretty sure that she was only a few years older than him. 

Despite the fact that literally everybody else was going, he knew that she was right;  _ he _ would be missing out this time around. He didn’t disagree with her, or even tried to argue that, and simply nodded instead, letting her come over, take his arm, and pull him to the armchairs by the balcony doors, open wide to let the crisp night air in, actually cold this late into the year. She closed one of them, and took a seat. Without a word, he took the other one. They were a second away from changing his entire life again. 

“You’re spiraling.” She said, voice soft. It didn’t hurt. 

“I know.” 

“Did he mean that much to you?” 

Now,  _ that _ hurt; the image that it brought back, the memories that it made flash past his eyes and flood his heart, feelings that he had only been partially successful at burying this whole time. No, not burying; numbing. That cut him deep inside and closed his throat with a knot. No one had mentioned Roxas in almost a month. 

“Last time I saw you like this was when the Russians jumped you, Axel." 

Sudden flashbacks of the alleyway, three cloaked figures, the ground, the splitting pain on his side, the voices, and his heart raced, breath seized in his lungs, trapped. He swallowed thick and averted eye contact from her, glancing off to the left to hide the panic that paled his skin and widened his eyes. That had been a long time ago, and he was fine now, it was fine. It was fine. A small, shaky, concealed exhale, and he was fine. That hadn't crossed his mind in years. 

"This is different." He muttered, quiet in the silence between them, directed at the opposite corner of the room. 

"Of course it is, but it's affecting you just the same. Don't you see that?" 

A scowl on his forehead, his gaze at the ground to his left, the knot in his throat tight, painfully tight, and he wanted to deny it; to say that he didn't see it, that she was wrong, that he didn't think about it all the time, that he didn't need pills to sleep during the week and drinks to see the rest of the days through, that he didn't want to scream and cry and punch a wall until his knuckles bled and the world went dark, but she was right. He saw it, of course he saw it. It wasn't the same, obviously, but it was similar; it put him back in that same darkness, in the one familiar place that he knew so well, that he always crawled back to when something was wrong and affecting him deeply, where he went to hole himself up and hide from it. It wasn't healing, and it wasn't helpful, but it was the only way that he knew how to cope. The scowl deepened, his jaw set, and the fact that he had let Roxas affect him this much was ridiculous, but he had been his first real connection, a real friend, someone that he understood on a fundamental level, and who he felt so deeply, so truthfully for. It hurt to think about him; their fake bond, their fake friendship, and how real were his feelings toward all of it. His vision blurred, his eyes burned, and the world drowned underwater; he was crying in front of Aqua again. What a surprise. 

He never answered her question, and she never reiterated it, either. In silence, she moved up from her seat and came over to him, cradling his head in both hands, holding it against her stomach. He sniffled, shoulders shagging, and hid his face on her shirt; fingers combing through his hair, lilac and jasmine enveloping him in an embrace. It was familiar, upsetting, and comforting all at the same time, that he always relapsed because of something stupid, and she was always the one to pick him up afterwards. She held him until his shoulders stilled, his breathing returned to normal, and he pulled away from her, tired and drained. He had needed this for a good, long time. In silence, he leaned back onto his seat, and, at his right, Aqua leaned down to plant a kiss on the top of his head. 

“You’ll be alright.” 

He would, and he thought of that all week; how much she believed it, how much she believed  _ him, _ and how he wanted to do her proud, to prove that he was, in fact, as strong as she thought that he was. It started by not shooting cocaine anymore and pacing himself at parties instead of straight-up blacking out ten minutes in, spacing out his shots and taking his time with the drinks that he bought. It took him a couple of weekends to get used to that again, practically chain-smoking in lieu of it whenever he could, and another week to stop running away from his friends the minute that they were inside a club, but he reverted back to normal soon enough, even if, on the inside, he still felt like a victim of a truck hit-and-run and could barely survive the week without some sort of friendly push. Still, it was progress, and considering the fact that he didn’t necessarily want to jump out of the balcony anymore, he decided to take that as a win. A rough one that still needed perfecting, but one all the same. 

The year drew to a close, snow began to fall almost every other day, and whiskey was the only thing that warmed him up between cigarettes. On Christmas, that changed to eggnog and smoking on Xemnas’ balcony, the sky dark and cloudy, without a single star to shine some light through it. Roxas’ birthday was in a few days. His heart sunk to the bottom of his ribcage as he drew from the cigarette, Dean Martin’s muffled voice a low, husky timbre that reached him through a crack between the balcony doors.  _ The fire is slowly dying, and, my dear, we’re still goodbye-ing. _ A cold gust of wind blew past, making him shiver and raise his shoulders, despite how thick and warm his coat was, or how much alcohol was in his stomach. Cigarette butt snuffed out on a nearby ashtray, and a big eggnog swig. He hoped that Roxas got the electric guitar that he wanted, a big, bright smile on his face as he unwrapped it. His throat closed at the thought and his eyes watered, but that was the extent of it. Finishing off the rest of his eggnog, he stepped back into the party. 


	4. Reunited

February started off cloudy and cold, colder than it had been all of last month, and with no intentions of getting any better; snow still fell, practically everyday now, and wind still blew to throw that around everywhere. It made blending with the crowd significantly easier, though, behind flipped up jacket lapels and thick scarves, which was possibly the only upside to it, and one that Axel tried to focus on while tailing his targets, able to do that from much closer now. He was out all Friday long, having done almost no work at the office this morning past a quick visit to speak with Xemnas and glance at Saix’s face, who hadn’t really looked at him since Christmas for whatever reason. He’d like to say that that didn’t bother him, except it really, really did. Saix had been very busy lately, Demyx had told him a couple of days ago, over some hot toddy in the kitchen. Lots of work to do. Well, Axel had been busy, too, but that didn’t stop him from seeing his friends over the weekend. Did Demyx think that Saix was mad at him? Blonde eyebrows furrowed, an exaggerated scoff. What? No way! Saix wasn’t the passive-aggressive type. Yeah, Axel knew that, which probably meant that something big was going on. Demyx denied it, but, ultimately, as things usually went, Axel ended up being right about that; the confirmation came late that Friday afternoon with an invitation for all members to be at the party room downstairs for an announcement. Axel had just gotten to the building when he saw the message, and didn’t even bother going upstairs. 

The room was already full and the meeting had already begun by the time he arrived, but, because he wasn’t the type to stand at the far back, hiding his late advent behind a crowd, he pushed past the others to the front instead, where Xemnas stood on a dais, and Saix stood with him. He could see up their shoulders as he approached, absently listening to them expatiate on the goals of the organization and their future plans, their newest successes, the current news. None of it was very innovative to him, who worked closely with those two guys, and, as he had guessed, most of it was just motivational bullshit directed to the newcomers, which happened at the beginning of every damn year. Custom at this point, but as part of the high administration, he had to show face for it, anyway. A couple of rows from the front, Xemnas called out his name. 

“Ah, Axel. Nice of you to join us. Your presence here is of much importance to you, seeing as this is your future assignment.” 

Oh, God, was something going to be his problem?  _ More _ responsibility, and this early into the year, too? As if he didn’t have enough on his plate as it was. A suppressed sigh, a suppressed eye roll, and he made his way up to the front of the room, where the dais stood, and the sight of it felt like a strike of lightning to the heart, eyes wide, blood frozen. Between Xemnas and Saix was Roxas, as pale as paper and with blue eyes bigger than he had last seen them, eyebrows drawn upward out of fear, hands squeezing one another. He couldn’t fucking move. 

“You will be training him for the next few months. It will be your responsibility alone to shape him into the excellence that I expect out every single one of your assignments, and nothing less, but that’s a subject that you and I will broach in private when it’s time. Right now, we have a party to attend; a warm welcome to our newest member, Roxas Spéir.” 

A winning smile from Xemnas, and the room erupted into applause, a low murmur coming up just beneath it, the people around him gossiping about something that he couldn’t really hear, heart beating far too fast, a ringing in his ears to muffle it all. He took a step backwards, away from the dais, and turned around to rush back into the crowd, to get as far away from this whole situation as possible. They had recruited fucking Roxas, how? Why? He couldn’t breathe, his entire body felt too warm, sweat prickled at his forehead. Why had Roxas accepted their terms? He must’ve been coerced into it, forced to sign the contract, but why? Why did they want  _ him, _ of all people? Oh. The answer hit him just outside the party room, in the empty elevator hallway; it was because of him. They’re only doing this to get back to him, because rules were rules, and he had known that from the beginning, ignored everybody’s warnings. Goddammit, he had broken it off with Roxas, though; did that not matter? He guessed the fuck not. Maybe he had taken too damn long to do it, and maybe their second encounter had been long enough. He walked into an empty elevator and pressed the second to last button. Shit. 

What was Roxas thinking right now, about all of this? About being a member of the organization, about working with him? How long had he known that? A quick image of Roxas’ hands a minute ago, the way that they had held onto one another, squeezing together, the scowl on his forehead; he wasn’t okay. Anxious, scared, worried? Either due to the overwhelming attention on his person, or to seeing Axel again, for the first time since, well. The worst day of his life. A ding, and the elevator doors opened. He walked into his apartment and decided not to attend the party. It was probably mandatory, because of course it’d be mandatory, but fuck him if he was going to show face for it with Roxas there; it was a disaster waiting to happen. No, he’d rather stay home and let Roxas enjoy his party in peace, make some friends, meet up with Demyx and Xigbar for a smoke, see Aqua lurking just across the room and not talk to her. Would she approach him at all? They hadn’t talked about Roxas since that embarrassing encounter in his room, another one to the long list of situations that she had seen him in. He didn’t even know if she was going to attend the party, either. 

In the kitchen, he pulled out a bottle of tequila and poured himself a shot. Roxas was going to be his pupil. His heart skipped a beat at the thought, jumping to punch him in the throat, a breath halfway down his lungs. Were they going to make him an assassin, too? Roxas gripping a slippery knife with blood on his hands, God, he couldn’t even picture it. On the streets, tailing a target, gathering intel, and later dealing with the Russians all by himself, in an unlit alleyway, in danger. His skin crawled at the mere thought of it, pulse racing; he wasn’t going to let that happen, he couldn’t. He couldn’t. No, they were probably going to make him something else, dispensable, and actually trained by Marluxia; that was the guy’s job, that was what he did for a living. When a pre-existing and respectable member needed finer training in something very specific,  _ that _ was when they got sent to Axel, not the other way around; he hadn’t trained someone from scratch in a very long time, but, he supposed, that was his punishment. A sigh, and he downed the shot. 

An echo of the front door opening, and Demyx calling his name from the foyer, making him answer from the kitchen. Door pushed shut, he listened to the click of the lock, and Demyx walked in, a look on his face. Was Axel alright? He had bailed a second after showing up. Another shot poured, and he brought a second glass to accompany his own. No, he wasn’t alright. This was all fucked. He had stopped seeing Roxas already; they didn’t have to do this. Demyx clicked his tongue, approaching the counter to take his glass, his face a mixture of helplessness and his signature “you knew this was going to happen” look. Sure, he knew the repercussions, but, goddammit, they had barely even spent time together; it  _ wasn’t _ an Aqua-and-Terra situation. They weren’t dating, and had only hung out a couple of times. Then, it was all broken off, like it hadn’t even happened, Dem. He did it himself.  _ This _ was overkill. His own shot downed, and he filled the two short glasses back up. Listen, dude, whatever; the contract had already been signed, and nothing was going to change at this point, so why didn’t Axel just let it go, huh? There was a party about to happen downstairs; it was time to get shit-faced and reconnect. If anything, now he could date Roxas to Hell and back, if he wanted; shit had already hit the fan, so whatever. Whatever. It didn’t matter. Roxas was going to work under him, anyway, and wasn’t that going to be sexy? Tongue out, a suggestive noise, and Demyx nudged him on the arm. Oh, God, that was the worst thing that he had ever heard. Shot downed to the sound of Demyx’s laughter, and he slammed the glass back onto the counter, done for now. Time for a little break. 

“I can’t go downstairs.” He confessed, suddenly, with both palms on the counter and an upward scowl on his face. “I don’t think I can even talk to him, man.” 

“Dude, you’re going to  _ work _ with him; you  _ have _ to talk to him at some point, and this is the best time to break the ice, because if you say something fucked up and stupid, you can just blame it on the booze. It’s easy.” 

“What the fuck would I even say? There’s nothing to be said!” 

“I’m pretty sure there’s at least one thing you want to say. C’mon, don’t you want to make up with him?” 

“Not necessarily. I’m fine where I am.” 

“What a crock of shit, Axel. You’re fucking miserable, dude; just tell him you’re sorry, and you hope to work as friends. It’s a first step.” 

“We don’t need to be friends to work together.” A pause, an idea in his fucked up brain. “You know what? I’ll just tell him that, yeah.” 

“Um.” Blue eyes squinted, nose scrunched up. “That might not be the best idea. Hey, how about a how are you instead?” 

“No, that’s too personal. I don’t want to be weird.” 

“Axel, that’s literally the first thing you ask someone when you haven’t seen them in a while. It’s not that personal, it’s just common courtesy.” 

“Fuck, you’re right. You’re right.” Breath came in short, his heart raced, sweat budded on his forehead; he was freaking out. This was too much. “I’ll just not talk to him at all, then; I’m staying here tonight.” Turning around, he opened the fridge for a beer, popped the cap off, and took a long swig from it. 

“Oh my god, stop being such a fucking pussy about this, man!” With a scowl on his forehead, Demyx rounded the counter and punched him on the chest, knocking him back a step, beer bottle safely away from his face, but spilled all over the floor. 

“Ow! Dude!” 

That legitimately fucking hurt. 

“Dude, this is not the Axel I know. You’re being a little bitch right now; what the fuck happened? Axel, show me your goddamn game face, man! Tough it out, dude, c’mon!” 

One sharp inhale, and he set the beer aside. Demyx was right. That was a first in the history of their friendship, but, somehow, part of him still wasn’t surprised about it. Maybe he had expected it in a way, or maybe he just knew that he was wrong, and that kind of made literally anybody else right right now, be it Demyx or someone with an actual brain. Yeah, actually, that must’ve been it. Yeah. 

“Alright, alright, alright.” A deep breath in, chest puffed out, a short jump, and he could do this. He could fucking do this. He was psyched up now. “Alright, do it, do it, c’mon.” 

A hard punch on the pec, and it hurt, but he didn’t react to it. With a scowl on his face, he set his jaw, staring hard at Demyx the whole time. No reaction. 

“Yes!” Another punch, but he didn’t move. Not even a stagger back. “Fuck yeah! Dude, fuck yeah!” A palm up, and he high-fived Demyx in the space between them. “Yeah!” 

“Yeah!” 

He could fucking do this. 

Downstairs, by the time that he and Demyx had showered and gotten ready, the party had already started; music blasted from the overhead speakers, loud talk and general chatter flooded the room just below the music, and lights colored the crowd green, pink and blue, dancing above them, flashing on and off with the beat. He made his way inside and moved through the crowd without pushing it too much, just trying to slip through the cracks toward the bar. If he was going to approach Roxas, then he’d need some light encouragement; the shots from earlier didn’t count. A whiskey on the rocks was usually his choice for situations like this, so he went ahead and ordered two, just because Demyx had done him a favor today. After this, they were even. The bartender handed him the drinks relatively quickly, and they both downed them as if they were water, still by the counter to order a follow-up to that while they still had the man’s attention. The look on the bartender’s face at their little stunt didn’t go unnoticed, but Axel decided against commenting on it; his goal here was set somewhere else, and that was kind of all that he could think about right now, with no time for some pissy bartender that didn’t appreciate their patronage. Carrying two sherries in tall glasses, they left the bar. 

It wasn’t hard to spot Roxas when he was surrounded by pretty much all of Axel’s friends and even some of the more distasteful members of the organization, being the center of attention and everything, this his very own welcome party, after all. Still, it cooled his veins and shook him to the core seeing him again this early into the evening, because, well, he kind of expected them to have a little time apart before inevitably running into each other here. He wasn’t ready just yet. Taking a swig from his drink, he slipped behind some of the crowd, just so he could kind of watch Roxas for a second, and hopefully gauge how he was feeling right now, if still at all nervous. He had a blue drink in one hand and was sipping from the straw while the crowd of familiar faces around him talked over his head, literally every single person here taller than him; kind of isolating, in a way, even if he didn’t seem to mind it. He shifted his weight from one foot to another without actually dancing, and sipped on his drink, quietly, talking to no one and not being part of any of the multiple conversations that took place about a foot above him, even though he was watching it happen, blue eyes moving from one person to another. He stood between Aqua and her husband, and, seeing her here, next to him, was kind of surprising. Axel didn’t know exactly why, but, in his head, she didn’t have any reason, or inclination, to want to be near him after everything that had happened. Maybe the high school incident hadn’t shaken her as much as it had shaken him, which, honestly, made sense. She was talking to a few of the members closeby, and, like the rest of them, didn’t seem to be paying Roxas much mind, if any at all. 

Loosely paying attention to the conversations above him and half-heartedly swaying to the music, Roxas just kind of hung out, not doing much of anything else, and, as far as Axel could tell, not really nervous, either; just chilling next to his friends. Alright, so maybe this was the perfect time for an approach. He finished his drink in a couple of swigs, discarded his glass somewhere nearby, and stepped out from the crowd, coming up to stand within the circle that surrounded the party boy, and gather everyone’s attention all of a sudden, as if he were made of magnets. Blue eyes widened at the sight of him, pouty lips parting from the straw as Roxas stared up at him, and everybody around the both of them kind of stared, too. He didn’t care about that; attention came to him easily, a natural thing to be in the center of it pretty much all the time, and definitely not something that would’ve stopped him from going through with any of his plans. In the silence that had suddenly formed, and without glancing away from Roxas, he spoke. 

“Can I have a word with you?” Voice smooth, low, just above the beating of the music, the only sound within their little circle. Eyes on him, on both of them, watching this exchange with extreme interest, and, as usual, the attention was unimportant. 

Roxas paled on sight, seemingly shaken by this approach, but still nodded his consent, and followed Axel out of the circle, through the crowd, to a relatively less populated area, with small round tables, folding chairs, and booth couches, put together with the intent to be a safe haven for drunks and beginners that needed a time out. They moved to a corner away from the denser crowd, and, practically alone with Roxas for the first time in what had seemed like forever, he felt his heart jump, hammer into his rib cage, and make his pulse race. His fingers moved, almost going for a cigarette out of instinct, but they were indoors, and he was fine. It was fine. Roxas watched him with two blue eyes that were bigger than a lake and worry on his brow, a hand squeezing the bottom of his hoodie, practically stretching it out. In his mind, a voice screamed to tell Roxas that it was okay, that he wasn’t going to upset him or make him cry or hurt him again, but he was probably going to do all of those things, actually, so he let the voice scream. 

“Welcome to the family.” He started, simple, voice level. “As you know, we’ll be working together next week, and I expect nothing less than professionalism from you, even though this is your first job. I’m your boss, not your nanny, so watch your step. You and I are coworkers, not friends. If you’ve talked to anyone in here, you already know everything you need about me, and I suggest you take it all to heart, because everything they said is true.” Snitch, bootlicker, Xemnas’ little sheep, his fucking guard dog; that was his job, to take out traitors and carry out orders, and he’d be damned if any of these people were more important or consequential than the one man who had saved his life. He owed too much to Xemnas to toss it all in the trash over a piece of shit thug with an inflated ego, and his friends liked him despite that. Alright, maybe  _ like _ was too heavy of a word for that; more like endured him, because he could party and chill and not make a big deal out of anything that didn’t need a big deal made out of. Kind of like Saix, who was even less liked than himself, except Saix just barely opened his mouth, while he pretty much refused to do that. It was in his blood. 

Blue eyes watered while he talked, but didn’t actually spill, not just yet, and, despite how much it pained him right through the chest to see that, it could’ve been worse. That was what he told himself as he patted Roxas on the shoulder and made to leave, but a hand took his arm and made him stop. He glanced down at it without turning much, at where Roxas’ hand held onto his naked arm, the warmth of it on his skin, the goosebumps that it sent up his arm, the racing of his own heart at it. He must’ve not conveyed anything favorable on his face, though, because as soon as green met blue, Roxas dropped his hand, ceasing all contact between them, and even took a step backwards, closer to the tables behind him. It broke his heart, and made the muffled voice in his head scream every apology in the book, but he remained silent instead, watching the fear in Roxas’ eyes, the crease on his forehead. Half of him wondered when it was that Roxas had started fearing him like this, and half of him already knew the answer to that. 

“Sorry.” Roxas muttered, blue eyes shining behind the tears, quivering. The need to touch him right now, to wrap him up in a hug and carry him away from all of this was almost unbearable. It closed Axel’s hands in fists and squeezed his chest hard enough to pop. “I’m sorry about everything.” 

“That’s water under the bridge, Roxas. It’s a clean slate from now on, yeah?” A small, brief, soft touch on the shoulder. “Enjoy your party, man.”

He murdered what must’ve been an estimate of ten beers, five drinks, and three shots throughout the duration of the party, dancing with his eyes closed, not taking any of his surroundings in, and not paying attention to much of anything, lest he saw Roxas again, by accident, a quick glance, and just completely lost it. His composure was being precariously held together by a long strand of very thin, very fragile thread that could’ve snapped at any moment and done the unimaginable, which he refused to even attempt to picture what that would’ve been, for better or worse, but probably worse, no chances taken. Considering the fact that a mere touch on the arm had set his skin on fire, it was very clear to him that he was  _ not _ over Roxas in the slightest goddamn bit, so he wasn’t even going to risk it, not while drunk and horny and obsessively thinking about that hand on his arm the entire night. Instead, he drank by himself and danced in a corner, running into his friends every now and then, but not listening to anything that they said, patting them on the back in response, and generally staying away from literally everybody that he usually talked to around here. This was a countdown more than a party; a game of avoidance disguised as business, which stretched throughout the entire night, and surprisingly granted him peace away from Roxas. In fact, he didn’t see him at all, not even as a glance, and half of him sighed out of relief while the other half stabbed itself with a kitchen knife. Incredibly, he made it through without causing a scene. 

“Roxas sort of disappeared last night, didn’t he?” Demyx commented over a piece of toast and some coffee, making Axel’s heart skip, blood running cold for a second. “For the majority of it, actually, I think.” 

A look from Aqua at that, blues meeting wide, wide greens very pointedly, but still she said nothing, and neither did he, breath held halfway up his throat, pulse racing. The stare was held while she sipped on her mug, but broken a second later, with Saix’s voice coming from the kitchen door, making them all turn to look at him. 

“Yes, he did, definitely after  _ you _ talked to him.” Saix spoke with eyes fixed on Axel’s face, of course, incriminating him for something that he hadn’t even done, in front of his friends, and in his own damn house. Sure, he might have inadvertently caused that, but he hadn’t done it. The nerve that this guy had to ignore him for two weeks straight and then walk into his kitchen uninvited and with a fucking accusation was, honestly, kind of outrageous. If he had a little bit less of Axel’s respect here, he would’ve already gotten lounged at and attacked. Really, just what the fuck. 

“Oh, so you’re talking to me now, huh? You know, I was starting to wonder if I had pissed you off, but it’s actually the exact fucking opposite, it seems.” 

A small smirk on Saix’s face as he stopped by the island and helped himself to some juice, still uninvited and uncaring of that. 

“I was only carrying out orders, Axel; if you felt personally affected by my job, then I suggest a shot of self-awareness, because not everything is about you.” 

“But you did kind of ignore him for a while, though.” Demyx commented airily, almost disinterestedly, while biting into his toast. “I mean, I thought you were just busy, but I guess you were busy bringing Roxas in.” 

“Aw, did you feel bad doing it?” A condescending tone from Aqua, two hands up to bring her mug down and show a bright smile on her face. “Was that why you avoided Axel this whole time, because being around him made you feel guilty?” 

The smirk on Saix’s face was wiped clean at that and replaced by an ugly scowl on his forehead instead, eyes focused down at his own orange juice, not a word to refute Aqua’s claims in his mouth, no inclination to try and defend himself on his posture. It was a big and baffling spot-on victory that had Axel scoffing out a laugh, the tension on his shoulders sort of gone. Aqua had read him like a book. 

“Jokes aside, I heard Roxas spent most of the party up in his room.” Aqua commented, serious now, before bringing her mug up for a sip. “From the looks of it, he was very upset about something.” 

That felt like a stab and a twist, all tension immediately back twofold. 

“Well, that makes sense.” A shrug from Demyx. “Explains why we didn’t see him all night.” 

“Whatever happened must’ve been serious if it made him miss  _ his _ party.” A side-eye from Saix that made Axel’s jaw set and a scowl form on his forehead. 

“I didn’t do anything. If he skipped on the party, it was because he wanted to, alright? I had nothing to do with it.” 

“So why was it that you were the last person to talk to him before he left?” 

All eyes on him, and he felt his face burn. 

“I didn’t say anything!” Even though he had actually said a lot, probably too much, and was also the reason why Roxas had gotten too upset to attend the rest of the party. It was most definitely his fault. “It wasn’t my fault. Shut the fuck up.” 

“Alright, well.” A change of subject by Aqua, blue eyes moving to glance at Saix next. “I’m just glad you and Axel are friends again.” 

“We’ve always been friends.” 

A glance at Saix at that, his comment actually kind of surprising, but also comforting, in a way. It would’ve warmed up Axel’s chest if he weren’t so fucking pissed off right now, but there was a sure sense of kinship that sparked within himself at it, anyway. They had had multiple fallouts over the years, nursing a sort of rocky friendship since the very beginning, but had always made up in the end, somehow. If he had to guess, it was probably because they both had the same priorities, and ultimately understood one another’s actions and motivations, being that, were certain situations reversed, they would still have done the same to the other. E.g. if Axel had been the one assigned to bring into the organization someone that Saix really cared about without his knowledge, behind his back, and all the while knowing of their background together, he would still have done it, yes, but would probably have felt awkward about it, anyway, so he got it. He didn’t have to like it, but he got it; that didn’t diminish their friendship at all. They were both too laid-back to make a big deal out of each other’s business, close friends in their own way, but definitely different from their friendship with the others. This was kind of its own thing, college friends turned roommates, roommates turned close friends. They were too similar to each other to not coexist codependently. 

That night, because there were no more parties being thrown downstairs, they decided to hit a bar first, and then a club afterwards, the four of them joined by Aqua’s husband and Demyx’s boyfriend, both of which Axel only considered to be semi-friends of his, except not really. Maybe friends by association, though definitely not people that he’d just let waltz into his apartment midafternoon, unannounced and uninvited. They just weren’t that close. Beer at the bar, drinks at the club, music reverberating within their chests, faceless bodies dancing against one another, the warmth of the dancefloor, the spinning lights, neon that colored the crowd in green and red, and the thought of Roxas’ hand on his arm, the thought of Roxas’ mouth on his own, their bodies together, Roxas’ legs around his waist. His skin burned and his hands itched and he tried not to think about it, to enjoy the club as it was, to focus on the music and on his own dance moves, but the crowd was packed tight, and people kept brushing him on the arm, on the sides, pushing him to bump into the strangers that surrounded him, and he burned, he sweated, he needed  _ something. _ A body turned around, barely a face that he could see in the partial dark, but the jaw was sharp, the hair was short, and he automatically danced with them, felt their hands on his body, pulled them closer out of instinct. No breasts, definitely a guy, and it didn’t take long for the both of them to ditch the dancefloor for a bathroom stall. 

He didn’t give a shit what this dude looked like, barely even cared to look, and turned him around to face the stall door almost immediately, short hair black, glitter on his skin. Too tall, almost as tall as himself, voice too deep, too desperate, almost like something out of some cheap porn, but Axel didn’t care. Nothing about this guy could be wrong, because there wasn’t a right way to be, but he thought of Roxas’ voice and the warmth of his skin under a palm, his hand on Axel’s leg as he thrusted in, reaching back to pull him closer, and his entire chest ached, his head swam, and this was all wrong. He bit his lip and closed his eyes and thought of Roxas and he had never fucked a stranger this hard. It wasn’t fulfilling, it wasn’t what he wanted, and it left a much bigger void in his soul than before, and he wanted to tell himself that it was better than nothing, but it really, really wasn’t. He didn’t look at the guy’s face afterwards, didn’t say a single word to him, and appreciated the fact that that was reciprocated, with the man leaving a second later, and nothing said between them at all. Stall door pushed closed, this time by himself, and he just kind of stood there for a minute, staring at the flickering ceiling lights with a hole in his chest, kind of wishing that the last half hour hadn’t happened in the first place. He had never regretted something like this before. 

It didn’t feel right to go back to the crowd after that, the club too stuffy and full and loud all of a sudden, so he shouldered past everybody and left for the front doors instead, though he didn’t actually go home yet, not without his friends. For as much as they wouldn’t be surprised to only hear from him again tomorrow afternoon, he didn’t want to leave by himself right now, and just hung out by the door for a while, nursing a cigarette, watching the street. It sucked, he felt like shit, and it was so weird, such an alien thing to be feeling so low at the only place that made him feel better that he wasn’t even sure how to assess that. Under his coat, he felt sticky and gross, like he desperately needed a shower, but to scrub off that stranger’s existence off of him more than anything else. He smoked, and paced, and really wanted to call Roxas, an urge that sprouted from the pit of his stomach to punch him in the throat, but he didn’t have Roxas’ number anymore, and he wasn’t going to do that, anyway. He wanted to apologize for last night, for ruining his party and upsetting him so much, but he  _ wasn’t _ sorry, and he didn’t take anything back, and it wouldn’t be an apology. He didn’t feel bad for what he had said, he felt bad for how Roxas had taken it, and that was the problem. He was the problem. Fucking that stranger was the problem, and he shouldn’t have done that, and he wanted to tell Roxas about it, to tell him that nobody could make him feel the way that he did when they were together, and that nobody felt like Roxas did against his skin, and that he didn’t want to try anymore. He didn’t want to replace him at all. 

On Sunday, rather than looking forward to the party that night, he found himself thinking about Monday instead, his mind completely consumed by how training Roxas was going to go, how open Roxas would be to his tutoring, and what he should start with. Probably self-defense classes, if he were honest, because he didn’t think that Roxas had any experience in that, even though he had mentioned something about being on his own a long time ago. He still wasn’t sure what that had meant, because, at the time, Roxas had been living with his aunt, but it probably hadn’t meant that he knew how to fend himself off thugs and criminals, if it ever came down to it. That seemed like priority number one, with weapon wielding coming up second, and, wait, did Roxas even know what they did? Maybe a quick explanation of the business was in order, before anything else, and, God, he hadn’t done this in a good, long while. It was kind of driving him insane. He put together a starter routine for the self-defense classes instead of leisurely enjoying his Sunday, and set aside some documents, neatly organized within a folder, instead of joining the others in the living room for the pre-game. He only noticed how late it actually was when Aqua knocked on his door and told him that they’d drink all the whiskey if he didn’t come out soon. That made him immediately chill out with all of the paperwork and go take a shower. 

Depending on how many people actually cared to hit the club on a Sunday night, they either ended up needing an Uber or two, but not usually much more than that. They always waited for the rides and everybody else downstairs, by the building doors, chatting up the security guards on the meanwhile and smoking a cigarette or two just to pass the time. It was all so commonplace that Axel only noticed to have been set up when suddenly Roxas joined them, completely out of the blue, walking out of the building to a smiling Demyx that greeted him as if it had all been arranged, because it probably had been, just not with him. His eyes widened, his throat closed, and he nearly dropped his goddamn cigarette, yet seemed to have been the only one caught by surprise here, while everybody else casually gave Roxas their warmest welcomes. Blue eyes met green innocently, but a smirk on Roxas’ face promptly betrayed that. His breathing ceased. 

“Excited about tonight, Axel?” Voice light and sweet, faux innocence that clashed with the deviant look on his angelic little face. 

A longer drag from his cigarette, and he denied Roxas an answer to that. 

Sundays didn’t offer a great array of choices to party at, usually leaving them with shitty clubs that were always too full, and too nasty, but that at least weren’t so expensive and played great music; pros that always outweighed its cons, because they never arrived sober enough to care about anything, and were really only here to get dirty. Tonight’s choice was one of the better ones that had never really given Axel much of a bad time, yet, as he followed everybody into the dark and had to squeeze his way through the dancing crowd, suddenly it was too much; uncomfortable, claustrophobic, too many people in his immediate surroundings. He didn’t pussy out, but he didn’t want to be here, either, so he made his way to the bar first thing and got himself a couple of shots. His friends were closeby, kind of sticking around, he could see them; a head of blonde hair behind someone, short blue hair a couple of rows away, a shark-like spike poking up above the crowd not too far away. They generally stayed and partied together, with Axel being the only one to disappear in the middle of it and only show up at the building the following day to worry them all to death. Not lately, though. Not in a while, actually. With both shots in front of him, he downed the first one, and set the empty glass back down only to find the other one gone, and Roxas at his side, blue eyes watching him over the rim. Empty glass down, and Roxas licked his lips. 

“Another round?” 

“You’re not supposed to drink that.” 

A shrug, the ocean blues of Roxas’ eyes glinting in a way that he very much distrusted right now. 

“What are you going to do about it?” 

He should’ve gotten the fucking underage bracelet at the door. Why had the bouncer skipped him on that? Axel tried to remember standing in line to get in just a few minutes ago, but could only think of when they were already at the entrance, walking past the velvet rope. Maybe they had gotten VIP access somehow, and Roxas had slipped past unnoticed; he really couldn’t recall any of that, frustrated himself by trying, promptly gave up and got the bartender to double their order. Glasses refilled, a bright smile on Roxas’ face, and he burned; his skin simmered, his hands itched, his jaw set. They were so fucking close that he could smell Roxas’ cologne and wanted to drown himself in it, to pull him in both arms and bury his face into his hair and breathe, to grab his face and kiss that gross smirk off of it and hold him against the wall and touch him, feel him, kiss whimpers and pleas out of his mouth. He swallowed thick, forced his eyes away, and brought his glass up for a single go. This wasn’t going to end well. Already, he knew that; with the way that his body boiled and his breathing deepened and his heart raced just by being next to Roxas, and with how much he wanted him, he knew that there was no way to stop himself if anything happened. It was a trap, a very efficient one, and the way that Roxas looked at him, the way that he smirked and glanced him down told him that it was intentional. That Roxas had teamed up with his friends for this. 

He wasn’t a conspiracy guy, but this was definitely one, and he wouldn’t be caught dead in it. For as much as he wanted to meet with Roxas’ face, kiss him hard and lay him on this counter right now, he wouldn’t let them win. He wouldn’t be bested, no matter how unjustly they had rigged the game against him, how unfairly the cards lay; he’d walk out of this one untarnished. For that, he bought Roxas a drink, and, while the bartender mixed it, told him that he’d be right back, that he’d only take a second. Roxas asked him where he was going, but he ignored that and swiftly pushed his way through the crowd, adding distance between them. At the far end of the room, he walked into the smoking lounge and decided to stay there for the rest of the night, or until his friends wanted to leave, probably taking Roxas with them. Would they take Roxas with them? A momentary thought, everybody home and Roxas alone at the club, and his blood ran cold; he’d text Demyx about it before leaving himself. No, Aqua. Even though she had betrayed him tonight, he didn’t hold her accountable for it. He couldn’t; not when this whole thing had Demyx written all over it. 

For as much as the smoking lounge had a bar and some music, it wasn’t the same without a dancefloor, mostly because people didn’t come here to party, but to take a break from just that, and from everything that was going on inside for a minute. It was quiet, with low voices civil and tired, people leaning close to their friends to speak to them, ordering drinks here and there, but mostly tending to their cigarettes and taking a seat. All that Axel could really do here was get shit-faced, smoke and hang out by himself, his friends joining him every now and then for a smoke of their own, but very momentarily, and soon leaving to rejoin the party. It was surprisingly lonely, and every time the door opened he heard the blasting music from inside, the cheering crowd, and his pulse ran quicker, and his feet wanted to jump, and he was reminded of just how much he wanted to be in there, too. What were the chances of running into Roxas if he danced in a corner and blended into the crowd? Little to none. He could probably risk it and have some fun if he kept an eye out the whole time, but was it even worth it if he couldn’t let himself completely go? A sigh, one more finished beer. The door opened to let somebody in, and Britney’s voice reached him as a muffled whisper in the wind, a distant call to drag him in, to come dance and let the whole world burn. With the empty beer in the trash, he left for the party. 

Walking into the crowd to feel the beat pump in his chest was as cleansing as stepping under a waterfall, making his lungs fill up to the brim and his feet jump with his excitement, too much energy stored within his muscles, the alcohol wanting to kick it all out. He made his way to the opposite corner from the door and stayed right there all night, dancing, singing, feeling the music shake his chest and move his body and come out of his throat. The lights overhead swirled, and spiraled, and colored his skin pink, and his shirt green, and the people around him blue, everchanging, moving along with him and flashing on and off, the world an old movie reel for a minute, then back to abstract colors and moving lights every now and then. Songs talked of partying, and dancing, and drinking, and fucking, and falling in love, and running away, and loving one’s friends, and cheating, and deserving better, and everybody around him screamed, and laughed, and cried, and he understood what Roxas had meant about being part of something. His heart squeezed, and beat, and he hoped that Roxas was feeling it, too, even though he had ditched him by the bar hours ago and his friends could’ve been anywhere by now. Was he dancing, was he singing? Did he even like Katy Perry? Was he even still around? He could’ve left a long time ago; he could’ve been home right now, sleeping in bed, or watching a movie, or still here, singing about the days of the week instead, dancing with a stranger and letting them touch him. His throat closed. 

Suddenly, he really wanted to see Roxas. It was the opposite of what he should do, he wasn’t drunk enough to have that slip him by, but they had been here for a while now, and he had been too successful at staying away, and what if his friends had eluded Roxas, too? Alone in the club, mingling with strangers, drinking from their glasses, meeting them in the dark. Axel pushed past the crowd, heart racing as he got closer to the heart of the dancefloor, packed tight and moving with the music, people laughing and singing along. Hundreds of hairstyles all around him, heads tall and short, a sea of dancing lights and moving colors and he was never going to find Roxas here, not this drunk, not while unable to tell faces apart or even spot his friends under the flashing light. He scowled, and focused, and tried, but by the time he saw him, Roxas had already found him first; blue eyes pink under the neon light fixed right on him, petrifying him in place as Roxas came over, stepped into his personal space, threw an arm around his neck and met his face with a kiss. 

One hand behind Roxas’ head to hold him in it, one arm around him to pull him close, and kissing his face was like breathing again, closing his eyes and filling up his chest and making his heart race. He held Roxas tight, embracing his body into a firm hug, and he had never been so sure of anything before, that this was right, and good, and exactly what he was supposed to be doing. His tongue met with Roxas’ palate, Roxas’ back found the bathroom wall, and two thighs squeezed his waist, warm against his skin, making him burn, leaving him scorched. Fingers dug into the meat of Roxas’ hips, teeth sunk into the flesh of his neck, and it all felt so right, so right, so good and perfect and  _ right; _ the right weight under his arms, the right hands on his body, the right teeth on his lips, the right voice down his throat, the right words, the right sounds, the right person in his arms. Roxas’ whimpers on his tongue, thighs trembling against his sides, and cock sandwiched between the two of them as he pushed, and thrusted, and staggered Roxas against the wall, biting his lips and swallowing down his voice. His hands marked Roxas’ thighs, nails drew blood from his back, he pushed in deep, and hard, and couldn’t feel anything else, couldn’t think of anything else; there was Roxas, and there was him, and there wasn’t anything else. Making Roxas cum felt like coming home.

Finished and done and dressed again, still in the stall, still in private, he took Roxas' jaw in a hand and kissed him, softly this time around, lucid and present, with sentiment, with meaning. Not sure what that meaning was, but it made his heart swell, and flutter, and choke him right here, with Roxas in his arms, kissing him back. Quick but tender, they parted and blue eyes stared up at him, wide, bright, a sort of expectation on them that set his pulse off and made him turn to pull the stall door open, just to look away. He knew what Roxas was silently asking for, knew exactly what he wanted to hear, and felt himself shiver at it, hands cold. Holding the door open, he watched Roxas walk out first and followed. The magnitude of everything that he had just done, and of all the choices that he had just made tonight wasn't lost on him, but clung to his back like Roxas had a mere minute ago, and tried to weigh his conscience down, battling against the overwhelming sense that their togetherness was fully and entirely  _ right. _ It went without saying that guilt didn't win this time, and never would, anyway, though he'd probably welcome it at his door first thing in the morning. 

At the bar, he ordered two water bottles and glanced about himself, half disinterested, half looking for a familiar face, one arm across Roxas' back to keep him close. Lights flashed, music boomed, the water was delivered, and no one was found. It was just as fine. He took a bottle, and, before opening it, a hand was on his arm, holding it firmly, Roxas moving closer for attention, clearly wanting to speak to him. He leaned down for it, Roxas' lips on the side of his face, and could they go home right now? Yes, of course they could. A quick sip of water, and he led Roxas across the club. They’d see his friends tomorrow. 

In the elevator, the buttons for floors one and twelve were lit up, doors closing as Roxas laid on his chest, both arms in a loose hold around his waist, tired, sleepy, the side of his face nestled on his shirt, blue eyes barely open. A brief glance at the weather screen on the wall across from them, and it wasn’t even three in the morning. Roxas must not have gotten much sleep the night before. In the silence, he held Roxas back, much firmer and far more awake than him, hugging him in both arms, something that he had been dying to do for a very long time now, and which felt so right that, for a moment, he entertained the idea that his arms, his body, had only been made to perfectly mold with Roxas’ own, and that this was what he had been created to do. This was his purpose in life, to hold Roxas like this, to cradle him on his chest and fit his head perfectly underneath his chin, blonde hair brushing on his skin, bergamot and sand filling up his lungs. A stop, the doors opened, and he moved to get Roxas’ attention, a kiss planted amid blonde hair, hug loosened for now. 

“C’mon, this is you.” 

Roxas leaned away from his chest and glanced out the elevator doors, airily, disinterestedly, but gave no indication of leaving just yet. Instead, he stepped back close and hid his face on Axel’s chest. 

“No.” Muffled against his shirt. The doors threatened to close, so he pushed a button to keep them open. “Can I go up with you?” 

“No, Roxas; you live here now.” 

“Please?” Lips brushing his neck, spoken just before a kiss. “Please, I’ll do anything you want. Anything.” 

No. In fact, he wasn’t even going to humor that idea right now. 

“C’mon, Roxas, I’ll walk you in.” 

They left the elevator and crossed the hallway together, Roxas tucked tightly under his wing, with an arm across the low of his back and most of his weight leaning on his side, adamant to remain close. They walked up to Marluxia’s door and stopped, and the mere sight of this hallway was enough to bring him back multiple years, when Marluxia had just joined the organization, and Axel was the one to train him, visiting this floor practically everyday for two months straight. It felt like it had happened so long ago, but was probably just four or five years, and his memory was simply fucked from all of the drinking and blacking out that had happened far more frequently than visiting this apartment since. Roxas fished out a key and unlocked the door, pushing it open for the both of them, except Axel would rather be caught dead than in Marluxia’s apartment with one of his, uh, non-pupils. God, that was weird. Why was Roxas living here if he had no business with the other pupils, or even Marluxia himself? It didn’t matter. Roxas tried to pull him in, but he untangled himself free instead, and distracted Roxas with a kiss to the side of the head. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“What time?” 

“Depends if you have classes or not.” 

“I… Yeah, I do.” 

“Then I’ll see you after class.” 

“Okay. I miss you.” 

A click of the tongue, a shake of the head, and he pulled the door closed. 


	5. Day 01

Early on Monday morning, Xemnas sat alone in his office, door open, welcoming to all of the employees who were here at this hour, which were absolutely none, if Saix didn’t count. The entire floor was in complete silence, without a single soul here yet, not before eight, and sometimes not even before nine. Axel himself usually only showed up late afternoon, when he had outside business to take care of, and after ten when he didn’t. Fuck waking up early after partying all night, even though, he guessed, today was an exception. It  _ was _ a special occasion, and, anyway, he hadn’t been able to sleep much the night before, kind of stuck thinking about this the whole time, how it would go. A light knock on Xemnas’ door to get his attention, and Axel walked in, his presence leaving a long shadow behind himself, the morning sun filtering in through the glass panels that covered an entire side wall of the room. Curtains were drawn, very thin ones that would flutter at the first breeze that touched them if any windows were open, if it weren’t freezing cold outside, and that only served to dim the sunlight a little bit right now. Standing in front of his boss’ desk, Axel didn’t care to take a seat, because this wouldn’t take long. 

“Roxas is still going to school; winter break just ended.” He began, watching Xemnas lean back onto his chair and cross both hands over his lap, hazel eyes up to scrutinize him back. “I’ll be tending to my regular business until he’s dismissed, and will pick up training then. Is Marluxia also going to train him?” 

“No, he’s your responsibility alone. I’m assigning you on that for a month, during which I’d like weekly reports on his progress, as well as the routine that you have been giving him.” 

“Alright. I’ll start with basic self-defense and move onto CQC next. If he’s a quick learner, I might have time to initiate weapons training, but I doubt it. He’s difficult.” 

“Pay close attention to his strengths and weaknesses, Axel. When the month is up, I’d like you to weigh in on the best position for him within the force.” 

“Of course.” A pause, and he glanced down at the black folder in his hand, opening it. “How much have you told him about the business so far? Because--” 

“You’re ready to tell him all about it, in case we haven’t.” 

At that, his back straightened, hand slapping the folder back shut. The ease with which Xemnas could read him was damn near embarrassing. A smirk from his boss, and he set his jaw tight in response. 

“No, we didn’t waste time with something that you’d be more than willing to do for us. Knock yourself out, if you want, but…” A simple hand gesture, a bounce of the brows. 

“I know. I’ll only tell him what he needs to know.” 

“Naturally. Marluxia will be using the second floor for training, so you can take the third, if you’d like.” 

“Thanks, I will.” Spoken as he walked back toward the door with the folder in hand, but didn’t immediately reach it, stopping just a few paces from it to turn for a last glance, a question in his throat that refused to be swallowed down. “Why Roxas?” 

“You’re the one who chose him, Axel. Ergo, I propose the same question back to you: why him, indeed?” 

Fuck; he had been right all along. A resigned nod, and he left Xemnas’ office. 

Today brought him more paperwork and research than fresh air and a tail, the type of work that had his leg bouncing and his fingers drumming on the desk, restless, caged in, getting up far too often for a smoke and some water. He’d much rather be out there in the cold than at his desk all day, and usually managed to find some reason to be out, some place to check, someone to observe, just in case, just to make sure that he hadn’t missed anything, but, at this point, documents really needed filing, and Roxas just couldn’t come to a disorganized mess, despite how clean his office always was, or how neatly kept were all of his files. The fact that they needed updating was a problem, and not the work ethic that he wanted to be an example of. 

Forcing himself to stay at his desk for most of the day was a feat so surprising that even Saix noticed it, across the hallway from him, the double glass layer of their respective offices not doing much to keep them from spying on each other all day long. More surprising than that, however, was Saix actually getting up from his place and coming over to talk, because it was usually the other way around, and, to be honest, Axel couldn’t even remember the last time that that had happened. Leaning back onto his seat, he glanced up at his friend, watching the disingenuous surprise on his face as he approached, both arms crossed over his chest, one shoulder leaning on the door frame. 

“Didn’t think that leaving you in charge of our new recruit would’ve made you so stressed, Axel. What’s the big deal, huh? I thought you would’ve been overjoyed.” Spoken around a smirk, because Saix was a dick. 

In response, he squinted. 

“How did you get him to sign the contract? What did you two offer him?” 

“Why don’t you ask him that yourself? You’ll have plenty of time to talk about it.” 

A click of the tongue, a prompt withdrawal from the fight, and he glanced down at his computer screen to go back to ignoring Saix again. Work was less vexing than this. 

Once again deep within Roxas’ school records, this time for the hours of dismissal, and the general workings of the institution, he found out that senior students left at three-thirty in the afternoon, that Roxas’ grades had plummeted exponentially within these last two months, and that he had failed tenth grade four years ago. That number, it rang a faint bell at the very back of his mind, something that he couldn’t really recall what actually was. If he kept digging, he’d find it again, surely. Eventually. Expanding Roxas’ report card, he went through all of Roxas’ grades, a disgusting sea of Cs and Ds with a single B in the middle of it, in English, which, upon further inspection, was the first B that Roxas had ever gotten in that subject, his natural standard an A. It stung to see that, to have Roxas’ hardships during this short meanwhile publicly branded and recorded like that, painting such a clear picture of his emotional state, which, with a stab cutting clean through his chest, he knew was his fault. 

He checked Roxas’ cousins’ report cards for comparison, and, surprisingly, found very good grades there, all low As and middle-end Bs. For some reason, he had been expecting the opposite. Scrolling down, however, he quickly found what he had been looking for; a dozen incident reports and detention slips for foul language, reprehensible behavior, violence towards classmates and possession of illegal substances. So, as he had correctly assumed, they were a bunch of pot-smoking pieces of shit who clearly cheated on every test, big surprise. Back to Roxas’ file, and he didn’t find much difference in warnings and detention slips, minus the pot, plus cigarettes, starting four years ago. His freshman year record was so exemplary and clean that it almost looked like it had been lived by another person. A change of address halfway through sophomore year, and, oh, Ms. Spiér was taken out of the release form. Right, fuck, how could he have forgotten that? One click, and the browser was closed. The clock read five minutes past three, so he got up and grabbed his jacket. 

The very definition of Hell was trying to park while dozens of school buses surrounded the block and students filled up the sidewalks like the hemorrhage of a broken dam, meaning that going around the block twice yielded him no results, and, instead, made him resign to parking a block away and walking up the street like a regular person. Being on this sidewalk again as students flowed out the school gates gave him chilling flashbacks, but this time was different; he already knew everything that he had to know, and expected Roxas to show up at any moment now, rather than traumatize him for life. Normally, if this were a tail, he’d stay decently far away from the target, and watch them inconspicuously either from the shadows or amid a crowd, but, here, he wanted Roxas to see him, and stayed much closer to the outflow of students than he ever, ever would. Some of them gave him disinterested glances on their way to the buses, while most didn’t even notice him, joking and laughing with their peers while crossing the sidewalk. They weren’t particularly tall, and spotting Roxas was never difficult, anyway, but there were a lot of them out here, hair in all colors of the rainbow and clothes of all types wrapping them up to the neck. This would clearly take a minute, so he took out a cigarette and lit it, resting by the iron gates that surrounded the school grounds, passively watching the crowd flood the block, then start to thin out as buses began to leave and parents picked up their respective offspring. No sign of Roxas yet. 

The crowd thinned, and thinned, his cigarette was down to half its original size, and his heart skipped with the thought that Roxas might’ve already left, having taken the bus without seeing him a handful of feet away from the gate. They hadn’t talked about this; he had decided to be Roxas’ ride on a whim, and there was no way for Roxas to have known that in advance. A hand went for his phone, but he didn’t have Roxas’ number anymore; hadn’t had it in a while now. Fuck. Around him, a student here or there, hanging out by the gate, going home with their parents, leaving unescorted, and nothing of Roxas. He snuffed out the cigarette and decided to go into the building, so at least he could ask after him. Had he even come to class today? The thought of him skipping was more infuriating than letting him slip by unnoticed, but when he climbed the three steps and walked into the entrance hall, he saw him immediately, hanging out by the reception desk. With his back turned, Roxas didn’t see him, so he walked right out and back onto the sidewalk, one big breath in his lungs. It hadn’t all backfired yet. 

The moment Roxas that walked out, their eyes met straight away; ocean blues wide at his presence, feet slowly coming over. 

“Hey.” 

“What took you so long?” A slight scowl on his forehead, but he was only mildly vexed. 

“Extra credit.” 

A scoff, and he started down the sidewalk, to where he had parked the car. 

“Alright, now answer that without bullshitting me.” 

“I, I was… I was updating my fucking address, dickhead. What the fuck are  _ you _ doing here?” Voice loud, following him close on the left. 

“I’m your ride, jackass. Be a little more grateful.” 

“You don’t have to be; I can take the subway home.” 

“We’re not going home, we’re going to the office, and I’m here to save the both of us an hour of practice. You’re goddamn welcome.” 

Down the block, he unlocked the Mercedes, watching it light up with the command. 

“What, am I supposed to bow down to you or something? Be in your eternal debt for a fucking ride?” 

“A simple thank you would do, but I’m not holding my breath over it.” 

Stepping up to the driver’s side, he opened the door and got in, having Roxas do the same on the opposite side of the car. 

“Thank you for something I never fucking asked for, I guess.” An eye roll as Roxas stretched the seatbelt across his chest, blue eyes out the window and a slight scowl on his forehead. 

“You keep that shit up, you’ll be suspended from this goddamn school.” A passing comment, his attention on the rearview mirror while backing out of the spot and merging back onto the street. 

“What? What are you talking about?” 

“Your bitchy ass attitude.” 

“ _ You _ ’re the one who’s being an asshole right now!” 

A click of the tongue, and he decided against countering that, because Roxas wasn’t exactly wrong, and prolonging this wouldn’t grant him any benefits at the office. If anything, it’d only make Roxas want to be even less cooperative later, so twisting an arm for him here would be a small price to pay for future interest. 

“Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry.” 

No followup, no excuses, and no rebuttal to that, either; only silence, and a guilty one, too, if he had to guess. One sidelong glance over at Roxas confirmed that, blue eyes off to stare out the window, and a little pout to purse his lips. Cute. 

“Thanks for picking me up.” Small and quiet, almost against his will. 

“You’re welcome.” Spoken as he took a left to follow the traffic, eyes out the windshield with his focus, the silence between them something very, very present. He didn’t usually turn on the radio when driving, but considered doing it now just to liven the atmosphere. That, or he could be civil, and start a conversation that wouldn’t make Roxas want to punch him by the end of it. There were a thousand questions that he wanted to ask, anyway, so he might as well. 

“Why are you still going to school? You’re old enough to quit now, you know.” 

“Yeah, but I want to graduate. I’m already halfway there; I’m so close, I might as well just finish.” 

A shake of the head, green eyes focused straight ahead. 

“Not with your current grades, you’re not. You’re better off quitting.” 

“No, I’m, I’m working on it. It’ll be fine; I’ll get them back.” 

“Yeah, you’ll need less partying and more studying for that, so, unless you cancel every weekend until July, I don’t think that’s going to happen.” 

“It was winter break! God, what are you, my mom now?” 

He didn’t think that Roxas’ mother had to chide him for getting low grades or disobeying curfew, because, as far as he could tell, it had all avalanched after her passing, but he decided against saying a word of that. It wasn’t fair to Roxas, and it wasn’t fair to his mother, either. 

“As long as you’re my responsibility, yeah, I am.” 

“This has nothing to do with work. It’s  _ my _ business.” 

“I don’t think you get it, Roxas; your business is my business for the rest of the month. If you need to study, then I’ll have to put together a schedule for it, to fit it between practice.” Half an hour spent commuting meant that they’d only arrive at the building after four, and if Roxas had classes every fucking morning, then he shouldn’t keep him all night; practice should end relatively early to give him plenty of rest for the following day. Initially, he had thought three to four hours of practice a day, but that might end up cut down to half, depending on how much Roxas could take at a time. One deep breath in, and he’d figure all of that out later. Right now, they just needed to get out of Astoria. 

“A schedule?” Tone between incredulous and humorous. “Like, dinnertime at seven and bedtime at ten?” 

“Would that suit you?” 

“No! That’s what I had to do when I was, like, twelve!” 

“Alright, then; sounds perfect to me. I’ll end practice at six-thirty, so you’ll be home by seven for dinner.” 

“Are you listening to me? This isn’t grade school; I can train all night.” 

“If you’re so desperate to fail another year, yeah, you can.” 

A resigned silence, tension in the air, Roxas leaning back on the seat with a long, frustrated exhale. 

“Last night, I wasn’t a kid to you.” Low and firm, cutting him right through the chest with the audacity, the guts to say something like that. What a low fucking blow. 

“Last night, we weren’t working together.” 

Heavy silence for the rest of the ride. 

This far into the afternoon, the office had already filled up to its capacity, with practically everybody at their desks typing away on their computers, discussing a matter or other, going over paperwork and files, and some of them walking to the kitchen for a cup of coffee or two. Axel got that sentiment. Guiding Roxas through the maze, he explained, in a greatly oversimplified way, what happened here; that this building was their headquarters, and where they managed operations from, filed missions, documented their status, and basically got it all to work. Got what to work? Their other lines of business, of which there were a few; he’d get into that soon. The desks lined up in rows all across the room were the ones where mostly everybody worked, while this room on the right with Aqua inside was the lawyers’ office, the big one right in front of them was their boss’ office, the big one on the left was the base of operations, and the two front-to-front ones at the end of the hallway on the right were his and Saix’s offices. So he had an office all to himself? Yes, and he’d like for Roxas to follow him there. 

On the wall behind his desk was a decently sized map of New York City, glassed and framed, with the names of the streets on it, a compass at the bottom, and a scale for size. Here, he pointed at a very specific block in the heart of Manhattan, was where they were. Near the Hudson they had a dock, and it was in Brooklyn where most of their operations took place, with the warehouses and the orphanage. They had an orphanage? Yes, and it was where they recruited most of the members, probably all of Roxas’ friends on the first floor. They weren’t his friends. A movement on his right, Roxas sitting on the desk, just by his computer, his backpack damn near pushing on the screen. Careful, he warned, moving the screen an inch away to keep his anxiety from rising. In response to that, Roxas gave him a disinterested glance, a smirk slowly cutting across his face. 

“You ever fucked someone in here?” Low and lazy, as Roxas leaned back on a hand, thighs pushed apart. 

“No. Get off the desk.” 

A shove on the shoulder, and Roxas slid off to stand on both feet again, laughter echoing across the room. Computer back in place, and he decided, very pointedly, not to think about that question. 

A few floors down were the practice rooms and the showers, while the basement was comprised of the shooting range and general storage. The actual garage, where everybody parked, was in a separate building right next to this one, in the back of the lot, connected to it underground; a path which most of the members preferred to take when it happened to be either raining or snowing outside, which was often. As had been agreed with Xemnas earlier, they took up the third floor today, which shouldn’t have been in use, and, as promised, found it to be completely empty, with no distractions for Roxas, or literally any noise. In here, the room was wide, the ceiling was very high up, and the floors were mostly covered with soft padding to avoid injury on impact. There were mirrors lining one of the walls, punching bags in a corner, rubber balls in a box, and pretty much anything that they could’ve needed to make a soldier out of a regular citizen, from gymnastics equipment to dull knives. They crossed the left side for a bench, and dropped their bags on it. Axel hadn’t been here in a very long fucking time. In so long, actually, that the mere smell of rubber and dust was instantly nostalgic to him, bringing him back to when he had been in Roxas’ place and Xemnas in his. Kicking off his shoes, he unzipped the duffel. Roxas silently did the same to his school backpack. 

“Tell me that you have some sweatpants in that bag, or anything that isn’t a pair of jeans.” He commented, fishing out some pants of his own. 

Roxas watched him with a raised eyebrow. 

“I have my gym clothes, I guess. Are you making me climb a rope to the ceiling?” 

“No, you have no upper body strength. We’re starting simple.” 

“You don’t know that.” A scoff, and Roxas pulled out a pair of shorts and a shirt from his backpack. 

Axel took the liberty to step closer and take Roxas’ upper arm for research, squeezing its softness in a hand. Roxas immediately jerked himself free from it. 

“Like I said--”

“Shut the fuck up! I run better than I climb.” 

“Okay, that’s good to know.” 

It was fair to say that he didn’t really know what to expect from practice with Roxas, not the real thing, and had gone over a hundred different scenarios just last night, while trying to sleep, plus another dozen this morning, on the way to work, yet all of them had gone horribly wrong somehow, with at least one of them ending up hurt, and Roxas pissed off at him for whatever reason. They had already argued at the school, and were being generally hostile towards one another all day, kind of self-fulfilling his worst nightmare about this, so when Roxas openly glanced him down as they got dressed, blue eyes glinting at his naked chest, drinking him up, down to the crotch, he realized that he had gone about this all wrong. Third-eye unstitched, and of  _ course _ Roxas would find this hot rather than infuriating; they weren’t skirting around a fight, they were skirting around fucking on the ground right here, and that was exponentially worse, because he wasn’t exactly sure that he wouldn’t follow Roxas up if he were to make a move. He told himself that it’d be fine, though; that Roxas could try whatever he wanted, and still he’d protect the sanctity of their work environment, but, truth was, he wasn’t very confident about that at all. Unfortunately, it was all kind of up to Roxas here. 

Because this was a first for Roxas, they couldn’t just jump right into a staged fight, if he didn’t even know what to do with his body at all, or how to use it effectively against his opponents. There were a few steps before that, so, first, Axel taught him how to use his hands; how to close them, how to land a safe punch, how to land a painful one, how to hurt somebody without hurting himself. Then, he showed him where to grab, where to pull, where to hit, what to aim for; how to hurt the chest, how to slap the ear, how to knee the balls, how to punch the guts. It was simple, easy, anybody could do it, and that was kind of the point; not to scare him off, but to empower him, and it was very clear that he absolutely loved it. He bounced with excitement as Axel explained the how tos, and promptly recreated them as best as he could, putting so much effort into it and having so much fun that smiling was practically second nature when he nailed a set and Axel praised him for it. It was like cocaine in the veins every time he said a punch was perfect, or that Roxas’ form was great, or that he was a good boy, was doing a great job; one positive reinforcement, and Roxas shone. It was that easy. 

Two hours on the floor, fake-hitting each other, and the clock read a quarter past six. 

“Alright, that’s it for now.” Voice low and conversational, though it still echoed all across the empty room. Roxas instantly gave him puppy dog eyes in response to that, which he refused to look at, knowing full well the kind of power that they held over him, and turned toward the bench instead. “We’ll pick it up tomorrow.” 

“No, c’mon, one more set.” Roxas pleaded, rushing over. A hand took his arm for emphasis, soft, warm, and he almost glanced down at it. “Just one more, please.” 

“Roxas, I’ll give you a handful of sets tomorrow. Chill.” 

Resignation, and the hand was gone. The spot burned. 

In the elevator, he hesitated, hand hovering over the fifth floor, but not immediately pressing it. The showers. His heart skipped at the mere thought of it, a quick flashback from last night hitting him in full; Roxas’ back against the wall, hands on his back, teeth sinking into the meat of Roxas’ neck, thighs squeezing his waist, and he immediately kicked it all out of his head, a big breath in his lungs. For as much as Roxas had been very diligent and even surprisingly professional today, hitting up the showers together was sure to immediately ruin all of that and make it weird, though only partially due to what Roxas would be willing to do, and mostly because he didn’t trust himself. On the one hand, they could just go home, and each shower at their respective apartments without risking anything, but, on the other, he really didn’t want their sweaty asses in his new car. He didn’t even smoke in it, dammit. 

“Did you forget where we parked?” Roxas asked, elevator doors closing. 

“No, I…” 

“I think it was on the second floor.” 

It wasn’t, and, as a split-second decision, he pressed the basement button. No showering here today, he guessed. 

At the building, Roxas didn’t give him drama about spending the night on the first floor, as he had twenty-four hours ago, and, instead, asked him if he’d get picked up from school tomorrow, as well. Yes, Axel reassured him that he’d be there right after the bell, and the smile that that got him, the brilliance of it, cheeks round and full with color, blue eyes shining, was enough to warm his heart and make him feel it. It was worth the entire world, and he could've pulled it out of his chest just to give it to him. Roxas promised to see him tomorrow and left, elevator doors closing behind him, rendering Axel alone for the rest of the ride up, that smile in his mind, chest warm and resonating. Maybe training Roxas would be good, actually. Maybe it wouldn’t be a complete shit-show, like he had thought.


	6. Reconnection

Tuesday morning brought him a tail across the Bronx, late lunch with his friends at an Italian place, and a flood of questions about yesterday’s practice. How did it go? How did Roxas behave? Did he even have what it took to be in this business? They didn’t know what he would do yet, or what he was even going to be involved in, but he did fine; better than fine, he did pretty well for a kid. So, did they fuck in the showers or not? A shove on Demyx’s shoulder as they walked back to the office, and the others laughed. This was business, Dem, not Saturday night. He meant Sunday night, though, right? A pointed look at Demyx at that, a choir of oohs around them, and he refused to comment on it. The efficacy with which his friends always managed to know what was going on in his private life was always horribly baffling, and he kind of hated it. Nothing that he did ever failed to travel all across the building, somehow; his business always ending up being everybody else’s, too. He wished he knew who was responsible for that, but, truth was, it was probably himself. 

Two hours until he had to pick up Roxas, and all he could think about was that stupid comment in his office, when Roxas was on his desk. What had he expected from it, that Axel had pushed him down and lifted his legs, right there, just across the hallway from Saix? No, actually, nevermind; he refused to even humor that idea, and turned back to his computer screen, where an empty report was open, waiting for him to detail the chase from today. Filling out the first section, he briefly wondered if Roxas would get a desk of his own soon, and if it’d be placed along with the rest of the crowd outside. Maybe after he completed training and showed usefulness in a specific line of business, and maybe he’d just stay right here instead, sharing a room with him, being his little nuisance, asking to get fucked over the desk. Goddammit, the report was still half blank, and why did he keep going back to that? Roxas had only brought it up to piss him off. Actually, a lot of what Roxas did was solely to piss him off, and it'd be lying to say that he didn't do that right back. Definitely not as often, but still; Roxas sitting on his desk, leaning back on a hand, that smirk on his face. One deep breath in, and he refocused onto the screen before him, the tail earlier. The car model, the streets that they had traveled through, the businesses that the target had stopped at, and would Saix have watched it from across the hall? Would he have reported them instead? With the amount of dick-sucking that went on in Xemnas' office, he found it difficult to believe that Saix would've had any moral ground to turn him in. God, the report. The report. 

Two fifty-eight, and he decided that that was enough time spent dwelling over this bullshit. Grabbing his jacket, he left for the elevators. 

It took Roxas much less time to leave school today, a tuft of bright, blonde hair traveling among the crowd, zigzagging through it to push past the gate. He came over bubbling with excitement, practically jumping on his feet, damn near running to meet up, a wide smile on his face, the sun in his soul. Axel could practically touch his eagerness, feeling his own pulse speed at it, a small smile tugging at the corner of his own lips in response to it. A brief greeting, and Roxas swiped the cigarette from his hand to toke on it. Were Roxas any less brilliant than Apollo, he would've chided him for it, but, as it was, all he could do was throw an arm across his shoulders and walk him down the block. 

At the beginning of class, they revised some of what had been taught yesterday; how to hold oneself and how to move in a fight, but, for the most of it, focused more on counter-attacks and how to break certain holds. It involved a considerable amount of skin contact, with their arms pushing together for posture breaks, their bodies faking holds on each other, hands grabbing and twisting, every step in much closer proximity than the one before it, and, to be honest, it worried him a little bit. It had every reason to go horribly wrong, especially considering how they always changed in front of each other before anything, and Roxas already started this whole thing horny, but, to his utmost surprise, today actually went  _ well. _ Roxas paid attention and listened, mimicked the way that he moved, mimicked where to touch and where to grab without making it weird, without going for something else, and it was so relieving that Axel found himself gradually letting go of that thought, letting go of that fear, and focusing entirely on practice instead; the right movements, the techniques, the reason behind every step. It even got his blood pumping, pushing Roxas to the limit, remembering just how fun this could actually be. It wore Roxas right out, though, and had him asking for breaks, but their time was almost up, so, no; he'd get to rest later. Please? Breathless, yet managing to perform a successful dodge. Two more sets and he could rest. Deal? No actual response, which he decided to take as an agreement. Set one was wobbly but completed, which carried him over to set two, and landed Roxas a jab in the face. Seeing him stumble back with a palm up and both eyes closed was the most horrifying thing that Axel had ever experienced, and it cut through him like ten knives to the chest. 

"I'm so fucking sorry." 

A hand covered Roxas' jaw as he took a seat on the ground, willingly, practically dropping down, and Axel rushed to join him. 

"Ow, fuck." 

He pulled Roxas' hand away to assess the damage, but no skin had been split, nothing had been broken; it had been a fake throw, after all, just for practice. His jaw was just red, not even bruised yet, though he knew it would be soon. 

“God, I know you hate me, but, fuck.” 

What? A scowl on his forehead and a look on his face in response to that. 

“I don’t hate you. Don’t be melodramatic.” 

In one of the corners of the room was a makeshift infirmary, with some first aid kits and a mini fridge full of ice packs, set up for this exact scenario, so he got up for one. 

“My rising is in Cancer.” Roxas called from across the room, getting a scoffed out laugh out of him, because of  _ course _ his rising was in Cancer. “This isn’t some act to me, Axel; you punched me in the face, dude.” 

“And I’m sorry!” 

With the ice pack in hand, he walked back and placed it, very gently, against Roxas’ skin, right over the bright red. It made him hiss and want to pull away, but he managed to keep it to his face instead, blue eyes closed, breathing still shallow and ragged. The sight stabbed him in the gut, because he shouldn’t have pushed Roxas like that, almost to the point of exhaustion. A hand laid onto the padded ground, and Roxas leaned on it, suddenly very, very pale. Axel’s heart skipped. 

“Fuck…” Almost breathless, barely present, just a handful of bad signs here. “I think I’m gonna pass out.” 

Yes, and he looked like he was going to, too. Two hands promptly found Roxas’ back at that and pushed him forward some, a gentle command for him to raise his knees and hang his head between them, which he complied to sans fight, but sluggish, with a lethargy to his body that had probably been carried over for about an hour now, and was finally hitting him at full force. Axel felt like shit for it. Rubbing his back and holding him forward, Axel asked him to try and control his breathing, making it slower, and deeper, following the pattern that Axel gave him, breathing along. In, in, hold it, and out. He should’ve let Roxas take the fucking break. 

“I’m sorry.” He spoke with a hand on the nape of Roxas’ neck, a thumb brushing the skin there, fingertips touching his hair. “I’ll be better next time.” 

“It’s okay.” 

It really wasn’t, but it’d have to be. Breathing in big, and deep, and together, they sat in the sparring room until Roxas’ blood pressure rose back to normal, his face was rosy again, and the world had stopped spinning right before his eyes. The bruise on his face was blooming terribly, and looking at it punched Axel in the gut, but Roxas would be fine. Up on both feet again, they took their bags to the car and threw them in the backseat. It was Tuesday. 

“Have the boys told you about Tuesday nights?” He asked within the confines of the Mercedes, engine on and low, purring as they drove out of the parking lot. In his peripherals, Roxas turned to shoot him a glance. 

“Do you mean Demyx and Saix? Are they the boys?” 

“I also mean Aqua. We hit the gym twice a week together, and today is one of those days.” 

“You’re going to lift after everything we just did?” 

“After everything  _ you _ just did; that was pretty much a warm-up for me. So, I’ll drop you off at the building, but I won’t be going up with you this time.” 

“Can I come?” 

A quick sidelong glance across the seat divider at Roxas. 

“You almost fucking fainted, dude. Who do you think you are?” 

“I’m not exercising, I just want to hang out with everybody else.” 

“You need a membership to enter.” 

“I’m sure they have those free thirty-day trials or something that I can use.” 

Shit, they probably did. Goddammit. 

“Well, we don’t really stick around for very long. Two hours tops; it’s practically nothing.” 

“Cool; I’m, like, kind of starving.” 

“Actually, we might run a little long today. I’m already late, so.” 

“Sick; I haven’t seen those dudes in a minute. We should catch up.” 

“They will probably leave before us, though.” 

“Great; I love alone time with you.” The sweetness of his tone, the delicacy of his words, the tilt in his voice, and Axel refused to look at him right now, because he already knew the roundness of his eyes and how brightly they shone just from the prospect of spending time together. If he looked now, he didn’t think that he’d ever be able to recover from it, even though he was pretty sure that going back hadn’t been an option for him in a very long time. 

Reluctantly, he took Roxas to the gym. 

There was a whole process that the receptionist had to go through to add Roxas to their database and allow him the free thirty-day trial, which Axel really didn’t feel like sitting through a second time around, and, instead, told Roxas that he’d be inside with everyone else. Roxas gave him a little nod and a smile in response, and he left for the lockers. They were both already wearing sweats from practice, so he didn’t need to change, and simply placed his duffel and coat in a locker before leaving for the actual gym. As imagined, his friends were already there, and the clock on the television told him that he was only fifteen minutes late, which really wasn’t all that bad, considering the accident. He jogged over, waved them all hello, and apologized for the delay. 

“There he is! Man, we were just talking about you.” Demyx commented from a shoulder press, a distrustful smile on his face. 

“What about me?” 

“The reason for you being late when you never are.” Saix from a lat pull-down, a glint in his eye that immediately made Axel squint in suspicion. 

“My guess is practice ran long.” Aqua from a leg extension, the only angel around here, the only one that he trusted with his eyes closed. “It’s Roxas’ first time getting around to being active, and it takes a while for the body to adjust to that.” 

“Oh, I’m pretty sure he’s  _ been _ active.” Demyx, snickering. “I’m sure he exercises every night.” 

“As far as we know, he’s in good shape, or we would’ve heard Axel complain by now.” 

“True. I mean, there’s a reason why he’s slept with practically half the crowd here.” 

“Are you saying that because half are women?” 

With lips sealed shut, he refused to participate in this buffoonery, and simply resigned himself to a bar nearby for pull-ups, a slight scowl on his forehead, and visible distaste on his face, as if any of this were really new. The only upside to his friends’ antics, he guessed, was that vexation helped him work out better; he burned the annoyance out of his system by pushing himself and making his muscles ache. In retrospect, this was kind of the main reason why they hit the gym together. 

“You know, I hadn’t noticed that, but you’re right; half  _ are _ women.” 

“Well, I don’t expect a gay man to notice women, Demyx.” 

“More pressing than that, I believe, is Roxas’ progress.” Saix jumped in to keep the subject on track. “I’m sure we’ll hear all about it at the end of the week, but may we get a preview before then?” 

Here, he dropped down from the bar. 

“You mean,  _ you _ ’ll hear about it, because Xemnas is going to tell you everything.” 

“Perhaps, but I wouldn’t want to leave the others out.” 

“How good is he, huh?” Demyx asked mostly out of left field, eyebrows bouncing, making his jaw set. 

Now, he had two ways to go about this, one of which would ultimately result in Demyx suffering from some sort of injury and a lot of people glancing at them, while the other wouldn’t let him immediately take out his annoyance on the one who had caused it, but would turn it into something more mellow, more sentimental, and a lot less explosive. He had never really had that second option before, so he decided to go with it for the first time, just to know how it would feel like to not be so completely predictable for once. Jokes aside, he was going to answer Demyx’s question truthfully. 

“You know, he’s actually very good. He’s been doing really well so far; he pays attention to the instructions, accepts criticism, and has good form. I legitimately think that he’s going to make a good fighter, and you’re more than free to quote me on that a month from now. I stand by it wholeheartedly.” 

“You’re attributing these accomplishments to him as if you had nothing to do with them.” Aqua, sweet, a tilt in her voice, making his chest grow warm.

Maybe taking the high road was good, actually. 

“True. I don’t think that he would’ve listened to criticism if Saix were on top of him instead.” 

Nevermind; the high road was fucking fake. 

“Shut the fuck up.” Both Axel and Saix together, with the same level of violence, but for vastly different reasons. 

“And in your twisted mind, he would’ve listened to  _ you _ ?” 

“Yeah, I think I could give him what he wanted.” 

Axel opened his mouth to tell Demyx off, but Roxas spoke over him before he could. 

“Yeah, I think you’re right.” A sweet smile on his face as he approached, his presence making everyone turn to look at him wide-eyed and surprised. Shocked, actually, as if they were seeing a ghost. Right; Axel had forgotten to tell them that he was coming. He probably should’ve let them know beforehand, but, well. He wouldn’t beat himself over it. 

“Who are we talking about?” 

The question had Demyx smirking wide and ready to answer it, except Aqua was much faster than him, swooping down for an immediate change of subject. 

“What happened to your face?” 

Ah, shit, the bruise. From one uncomfortable topic to another, and Axel decided to check out of this one, too, focusing on his pull-ups instead. 

Roxas absently touched his jaw, a passing glance at the bar on his left. 

“I tripped on some stairs; didn’t think it was going to be so obvious.” 

“Almost looks like you got punched.” Hazel eyes squinted. 

“If I tell people that, do you think they’ll believe me? Like, can I say I was in a fight?” 

“You could say that. I think your classmates would believe you.” Demyx, more serious than he probably should’ve been about such an obvious lie. 

“What are you doing here?” Aqua’s tone was so light and sweet that the bite of that question never even reached Roxas, or, really, anybody else. 

“Axel told me you guys hang out after work sometimes, and it sounded like fun, so I came with him.” Walking over to the bench press directly in front of the bar, Roxas took a seat. Blue eyes followed the movement of his body for a brief second, up and down with each pull-up, before moving to glance at the others. “Is this some sort of secret club that I shouldn’t know about?” 

“Not exactly, but we do talk about very important stuff here, sometimes.” 

Demyx couldn’t have been more wrong if he had wanted to. 

“Like what?” 

“Like where we’re going this weekend, or who’s going to host on Friday, which is probably going to be Saix this time, because we hosted last week.” 

“No, I can’t make it this Friday; I’m staying in late for a meeting. I have to catch up on some work. I thought I told you that.” 

“No, you didn’t.” Axel dropped down from the bar, a scowl on his face. “Are you really going to skip on us for a dick appointment, man? I mean, you could get both on Friday, like it’s not necessarily a choice.” 

A glare from Saix and no vocal response to that. Oh, bullseye. 

“Well, I  _ guess _ I could host, then.” 

“Or we could just go to a bar.” 

“Xigbar’s been wanting to host for a minute.” Demyx commented, getting up from the shoulder press, a palm immediately up to keep Axel from speaking. “I  _ know _ you despise his roommates, but I think we should give them a chance. They’re not so bad, and, anyway, we’re just going for the beer.” 

“Are you defending those assholes out of the goodness of your own heart, or because Zexion’s friends with them, huh?” 

“He’s only friends with Vexen, and I’m only suggesting this because you keep shutting Xigbar down and that’s really shitty! He’s our friend.” 

“Why isn’t he here?” Roxas asked, getting glances thrown in his direction from it. “You said you’re friends.” 

“It’s complicated.” 

“No, it’s really not.” Here, Demyx turned to face Roxas. “Xigbar is kind of a lone wolf. He hangs out with everybody, but isn’t really close to anyone, not even his roommates; they’re just always together because they live together. Problem is, Axel hates Vexen, and Aqua hates Xigbar, so we never really get to hang out much, even though I’m cool with literally everybody, and shouldn’t be punished for  _ their _ incompatibilities.” 

“We should’ve replaced him with Marluxia when we could.” Saix commented in faux-secrecy, speaking too loudly for that, and on purpose, too; leaning toward Axel to make a show of it, but keeping both eyes on Demyx to watch the indignation that raised his brows and gaped his mouth. 

“I know; I’ve said this a hundred times, but you insisted on moving out on me.” 

“I didn’t mean for  _ him _ to take my place.” 

“Should’ve sucked Xemnas’ dick harder for some justice, but I guess you don’t really give a shit about that.” 

A shove from Saix, and Axel left the bar for a nearby treadmill, a grin on his face. Demyx joined him on the left. 

“Is it true that you guys met in college?” Roxas asked, a general question to everybody here, even though blue eyes couldn’t really keep away from him in particular, briefly watching him punch in the coordinates to get the treadmill going before looking away at someone else. The attention wasn’t unexpected, and didn’t affect Axel at all. 

“Yes, we all did, except for Demyx.” 

“I never went to college.” 

“Why not?” 

“I don’t know, I’m not a nerd. I don’t like numbers, I just make music.” 

That had Roxas’ eyes shining. 

“Oh my god, are you the one who plays the bass?” 

Wait, how the fuck did Roxas know that? 

“Yeah, I am.” Suspicion on Demyx’s face, and on pretty much everybody else’s, too. “Did Axel tell you that?” 

“Yeah, he did, dude, holy shit. Are you in a band?” 

Had he actually done that? He didn’t remember it at all. 

“Um, no. I played with Terra for a while, but it’s just a hobby thing, and I’m pretty sure Xaldin plays the drums, but, to reiterate, everybody hates each other around here, so we could never be a band.” 

“Are you  _ kidding _ me? We’ll make them call a truce for this, dude, I don’t care; let’s be a fucking band!” 

“Really?” 

“Fuck yeah! I sing and play the guitar and write my own music, but we could totally do covers or whatever else you want instead, I don’t care. I like Green Day and My Chemical Romance and Fall Out Boy and--” 

“Yeah, I know.” Demyx interrupted, a hand up to gesture at Roxas. “I’ve seen what you wear.” 

“So are we doing this?” 

“I mean, I guess. Yeah.” 

Roxas was so excited that everybody around them kind of shot him glances, but didn’t really say anything about it. Good. 

“What kind of guitar did you get?” He asked, just to keep this vibe going, because happiness looked good on Roxas, and his grin was intoxicating, bright enough to make Axel feel it. 

“Huh? What do you mean?” 

“With your birthday money. You said you wanted to get an electric guitar after Christmas and your birthday, so which one did you get?” He didn’t know the first fucking thing about music, much less guitar types and models, but it was clearly one of Roxas’ main interests, meaning that he cared to hear him talk about it. He didn’t give a shit about his friends’ hobbies, but if they happened to overlap with Roxas’, then he guessed it’d be an actual topic of further discussion. 

Instead of having any of the desired positive effects, however, his question had only seemed to dim Roxas’ shine and bring color to his cheeks, smile faltering, blue eyes glancing off in a way which he could only describe as sheepish. Dammit, he had said the wrong thing, and wished he could kick himself for it. Shit. 

“Actually, I haven’t bought it yet, but I’m going for a Fender Stratocaster as soon as I can.” 

“That’s a solid choice. I have a Schecter Damien bass.” 

“I’m pretty sure Terra has a Gibson of a kind.” Aqua commented, leaving the leg extension for the bar. “But I don’t know much about music myself.” 

“No, you’re right; he has a Les Paul.” 

“Do you think he’ll want to be in our band? Man, we need a name for ourselves.” 

“If you ask, I’m sure he’d love to be in it.” 

“But I think you’ll have to choose between him or Xaldin.” 

“Axel, tell me you’re seeing this, too.” Saix cut in from the right, changing the topic while getting up from the lat pull-down. 

“What?” Breathless, the treadmill fast enough to get him panting. 

“There’s at least five people ogling you right now.” 

A quick glance around himself confirmed that, yeah, some people stared at him from the corner of their eyes, some people were less discreet about it, and a couple even smiled at him when their gazes met. On a regular day, he would already have been choosing his company for the showers later, repeats immediately discarded, but, strangely enough, his blood didn’t rush the way that it usually would, and his brain didn’t buzz with the excitement that came with discovering somebody else’s body under the falling water. A memory flash of the stranger from last Saturday, how regrettably everything had happened, how much his heart had squeezed at it, and his jaw set, a lump climbed up his throat; he’d rather not go through that again. In fact, the mere idea of it had never been so repulsive before. 

“Do you know these guys?” Roxas asked, innocent, making a very uncomfortable silence fall over them. Glances were exchanged, but none of these pussies dared to say a word, as expected. They weren’t worth a dollar. 

“Not really.” Vague, airy, keeping his eyes away from Roxas, hoping he’d drop the subject. His heart skipped, ice cold blood rushed down his body, and he tried to focus on the speed of his legs rather than how close they were to discussing something that he’d much rather not discuss right now, or pretty much ever. 

“Oh, you know some of them.” Demyx jumped in, his courage already back, doubling the size of Axel’s eyes and closing a knot around his throat. “More than just a few.”

A wide-eyed and very pointed glance over at Demyx, hidden from everybody else, and his roommate looked as if a second away from bursting into laughter. Motherfucker. 

To his great luck, though, Roxas didn’t ask how or where he knew these guys from, and no one elaborated on that, either, letting the subject die without a single person here willing to reanimate it, not even Demyx; he wasn’t  _ that _ fucking stupid. For the first time ever, they had all decided against joking about his sex life for a minute, because, suddenly, with Roxas hanging around, that kind of felt weird. They didn’t talk about Demyx’s past relationships around Zexion or Aqua’s failed romances near Terra, and much less touched on the very idea that Saix might have a sex life at all whenever their boss happened to be in the vicinity, but because Axel had never really had anyone, he had always been fair game, regardless or where they were or what they happened to be doing, so this, the sudden censorship due to Roxas’ presence, was the most alien feeling in the world. He could see it, how uncomfortable his friends were at the fact that Roxas wouldn’t appreciate hearing anything about that, and how they were all thinking the same thing just by the silent glances that were being thrown around, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it himself. It was definitely a new experience. 

To break the silence, Aqua changed the subject to something a lot less charged and far more generic, and conversation picked up again, casual, easy to follow, without any of their fucked up inside jokes, or anything relating to the past; simply common interests and current news. Roxas listened to their opinions more than contributed to the discussion himself, and followed them as they circled the gym, just kind of hanging out, like he said that he would, suspiciously quiet for most of it. That change in behavior would’ve worried Axel had he not noticed that Roxas’ interest in whatever topic being discussed had been exchanged for interest on Axel himself. In silence, Roxas watched him work out; blue eyes on his stomach as he did sit ups, on his arms when he benched, on his thighs any time he sat down, on his throat when he laughed, on his pecs when he lifted. Not trying to hide it, staring him down openly, here in public, uncaring whether anybody noticed it, almost wanting him to see it, to catch him doing it. He did, and often, too; their eyes met as if a quiet nod to each other, acknowledgement that he knew what Roxas was doing, and that Roxas knew that he knew it. Ocean blues burned, and always ended up glancing him down afterwards, challenging him to do anything about it, even though he wouldn’t. God, he couldn’t; it was only fucking Tuesday. 

When they hit the showers, Roxas decided to go with them. A quick farewell to Aqua, and the rest entered the men’s room, where each showerhead was enclosed within its own stall, wide and tall, with plenty of room to fit two or more, if the occasion called for it. Maybe not four, though, but Axel had never really tried, and couldn’t really say. The floors were of black tiles, the stalls were of black marble, and the doors were of a dark material that didn’t shine under the light, but seemed to swallow it instead, a dull sort of grain-like surface that was rough to the touch. The walls were tall, almost reached the ceiling, and had accompanying doors of equal size. Axel pushed a door open and held it for Roxas, watching the look on his face as he stepped in, carefully, suspiciously, a hint of expectation on ocean blues. He leaned on the door frame and pointed at a shower kit nearby, on a bench that seemed to protrude from the marble of the wall, as if an extension of it with hooks way up above where a white towel hung from. 

“You can use this, if you need to. It’s not the best stuff out there, but it’s better than nothing. Call me if you need me; I’ll be right next door.” 

With that, he left for the stall at the immediate right of this one. To reiterate, it was Tuesday; he’d never be going in, anyway. 

He didn’t think that Roxas was actually going to call for him as they showered, because all of the knobs were labeled, and everything was pretty straightforward around here, so when his soft, delicate voice echoed against the wall between them, just barely over the loudness of the falling water, he almost thought to have imagined it. Must’ve been wishful thinking to hear Roxas again, even though they had only been apart for a handful of minutes, which, lately, had started to feel like years, but he was wrong. Again, Roxas repeated himself, a little louder this time around, and he finally snapped out of it for an answer. 

“Axel?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Do you think people fuck here, in these showers?” 

Oh, god fucking dammit. 

“Yeah. Actually, I know they do.” 

“Have you?” 

His heart skipped a beat, soap in his hands, all movements stilled for a moment. Should he actually answer that? This was starting to feel a lot like a rerun of that time in his office, with Roxas sitting on his desk; a trap, or the lead-up to one that would get him stuck thinking about it every time he came here. Again, Roxas was trying to get under his skin, using suggestive commentary to get to him, his most effective weapon so far, but not that Axel would ever say it. Squinting, he decided to tread carefully here. 

“A couple of times, I guess.” 

His answer echoed within his own stall, and, for the second that followed it, there was silence. That must’ve been the end of it, he wrongly thought just as Roxas’ soft, angelic voice reached him over the sound of the water hitting the ground. 

“Remember in your apartment, when you, um. In your shower, when we--”

“Yeah, I remember.” Loud, promptly cutting Roxas off, heart racing against his ribs, unwilling to hear another word of it lest it gets him spiraling into the inappropriate. God, not right now. Not here. He didn’t know which of the times Roxas was actually referring to, but it didn’t matter, because he remembered them all, and, anyway, he didn’t think that that was the point of the question. “What about it?” 

“It was… When you pushed me against the glass, I--” 

“Yeah, Roxas, I know. I was there.” Fuck, shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up. Roxas against the steamed-up glass, thighs tight around his waist, his lips on Roxas’ neck and hands on his back, in his hair, the melody of Roxas’ voice reverberating across the bathroom, off the walls. In the mirror, their foggy reflection; his hands under Roxas’ thighs, blonde hair pressed up against the glass, the clear imprint of his back, moving with each thrust, clearer with each stagger. He shut his eyes, turning the water to cold. “Do you have a point?” 

“I just…” Words almost as if choked out, small, barely audible. “I miss you.” 

A pang right through the heart, and he shut off the water. This was enough showering for today. 

“I’ll be waiting for you outside.” 

It was late, the moon was high up in the sky by now, and no one was really out on the streets anymore, not while it snowed, not when it had been snowing every night for the last two weeks. In only a thin hoodie zipped up to the neck, Roxas hugged himself to fend off the wind, ungloved hands rubbing on his arms, shoulders drawn up to the ears. It was a short walk across the parking lot from the gym to the car, so he’d be fine, soon under the heater that Axel never used, but would turn on for him tonight. Still, though, that wasn’t enough coverage to protect him all winter long. Maybe during the day, but definitely not this late into the night. In the car, Axel turned on the heater. Roxas buckled up and glanced out the passenger window, a look on his face that Axel couldn’t really read, that reminded him of when they had first met and the days that had followed it. It bothered him still, that there was something just beneath the surface here, something that he couldn’t see, and that Roxas didn’t seem very inclined to share, either. Maybe with some conversation he’d be able to touch on it. 

“How close are you to getting the Fender?” He asked, engine on and purring as they drove out of the parking lot. 

Blue eyes glanced down with the same look on them, a dull softness that rounded them out and colored them darker. 

“Not very close. It’s gonna be a while.” 

“Well, you can play the guitar in the meantime. Terra can do the riffs or whatever, just until you get it, so your band won’t suffer from it.” 

In silence, Roxas leaned back onto his seat, ocean blues out the window again, a sort of heaviness weighing on his shoulders. He didn’t seem very willing to keep the conversation going, so Axel tried again. 

“Have you come up with a name yet?” 

A shake of the head, no vocal response. Alright, this wasn’t working; time to change tactics. 

On the way home, he took a detour to a much less populated street, a little area that cars didn’t usually drive past if they didn’t have business here, and which wasn’t quite as well lit as some of the others closeby. Driving on the right-most lane, he slowed down to a crawl, cruising, looking for a good spot to park. Roxas noticed that, his back resting straighter on the seat, eyes still out the window, but wider now, interested, though he didn’t say a word, didn’t break the silence, waiting for the big reveal instead of trying to ruin it. The empty parking lot of a closed store was good enough, so he rolled into it and parked at the far back, facing a wall, with the engine still on for the heater, but the headlights off. They both turned to face each other as if rehearsed, blue eyes interested, blonde brows up. 

“What’s going on, Roxas?” Voice low, as soft as he could make it, a tinge of sentiment in his words. Roxas’ brows scowled a bit in response to it. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but something’s bothering you, and seeing you like this bothers me, too. You were really excited about the band just a second ago, so what happened?” 

Blue eyes dropped at that, shoulders raised in defense, hands grabbing onto each other in much of the same way that he had seen them do just last weekend, at Roxas’ welcome party. He must’ve been extremely uncomfortable right now, locked in here to be questioned and scrutinized. It wasn’t what Axel had been aiming for, but, hey, if it yielded him any results, he’d take it. 

“Nothing, it’s nothing. There’s nothing going on.” 

“Now look me in the face and tell me that.” 

Blue met green, held the stare for a second, but soon dropped it again, lips parted but empty. Point made. 

“What’s bothering you so much? You know I can change anything you don’t like about the job. If it’s the building, or your roommates, though, I can’t really promise much, but I’ll try my hand at anything. It usually works.” 

“No, it’s not that; the job is fine, the building is fine. It’s not the organization, I mean, they saved my life. I, I don’t know where I’d be if it wasn’t for you guys.” A shake of the head, arms wrapping around himself for a hug. “It just sucks, you know? I don’t have where to go, or anyone who gives a fuck about me. My aunt threw all my shit out the window, wrecked my fucking guitar, and they all hate me, too; my grandpa is a piece of shit, my cousins are fucking assholes, and my aunt can choke on a dick, I just…” A big breath in, a shaky exhale. “I wish I wasn’t so alone all the time.” 

Jesus fucking Christ, he didn’t know any of that. Holy shit. The eviction must’ve been how his boss had managed to sign Roxas into the family. 

“You’re not alone, though.” 

Roxas turned to sit properly, with his back against the seat, face pointed at the windshield, arms crossed. The moon lit up his profile from the sun roof, blonde hair shining white, blue eyes glinting silver. 

“I  _ know _ I’m not, Axel. Not technically, because I have you, and Dem, and everybody else, but it just  _ feels _ like that. It feels like I’ve been alone my entire life, and the only place I had to go back to is gone.” 

A knife right through the chest, pumping his blood cold, because he knew that feeling well, not belonging anywhere, not being attached to anyone; worthless and replaceable. It hadn’t been the people around him, because he had always had friends to hang out with and adults to look after him, but bouncing from home to home and being returned to the orphanage every two months had carved a hole inside, a little throne room for the voice that told him that it was his fault, that he was the problem; that families didn’t want him because he was too loud, kids didn’t like him because he was too mean, and parents didn’t take him because he couldn’t follow orders. No home, no family, no real connections. The organization had only started to feel like a home, and its members like family, when he had learned to grow past that. 

“It gets better.” Low, soft, damn-near a whisper. Roxas turned to glance at him, silver eyes shining. “You’re angry, and you should be; you’re sad, and you should be. It’s going to feel like Hell for months, but it’s not forever. It ends. It hurts, and it sucks, but it ends. Grief will be over in time, and when you’re tired of being miserable, you’ll start feeling good again, so don’t worry about it. You’re going to be okay.” 

Without a word, Roxas leaned across the seat divider and gave him a big, tight hug. 


	7. Ghosts & Feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small heads-up for some pretty chickenshit homophobic slurs and NSFW content.

Wednesday morning woke him up to a call from Marluxia, far too early to have been considered polite, to express frustration and tell him to be a little more careful with his pupil, because the kid wasn’t exactly a punching bag. Having just woken up, he was a little in the dark about whatever it was that Marluxia was talking about, but as the guy went on, his head cleared up, and an image of the bruise on Roxas’ jaw had his blood pumping cold. Shit, he had classes today. Yes, Marluxia told him loud and clear, he was already on his way to school, but Axel shouldn’t worry, because Marluxia had taken care of it. That usually meant covering up the entire thing with makeup, and the man was known for working a brush like no one else, so Axel wasn’t worried. An earful had him nodding and apologizing, a real eye roll and a mental kick in the ass, because this was on him, and Marluxia had all the right to call him out, though he still didn’t have to like it. Hanging up, he decided to start the day early. Might as fucking well. 

At half past three, he was at the school gates, leisurely smoking a cigarette while scrolling down his phone, half checking the news, half wasting his time. Not a lot of importance had happened within the last eight hours, but it was something to do while waiting. The distant sound of the bell ringing, gates opening, and the flood of students that came with it, standard at this point, his demeanor unbothered and nonchalant while on the phone, because Roxas already knew where to meet him, and would be out soon. Drama in the EU, drama between his president and Russia, drama between China and literally everybody else; old news, recycled events, and when a shadow crossed in front of him very, very closeby, he glanced up to see Roxas power-walking to the car, without even stopping for a hello. That had him pocketing his phone and following the kid down the sidewalk, in strides that allowed his longer legs to easily extinguish the distance between them, and soon place them in step. He opened his mouth to tell Roxas off, but didn’t; not when two hands grabbed onto the straps of his backpack as if for dear life, shoulders raised up to try and cover his ears, and ocean blues shone with unshed tears. Something bad must’ve happened, and him being difficult right now over a non-issue wouldn’t help. Instead, he softened, and didn’t start anything. It didn’t matter. 

In the car, Roxas buckled up, turned to the window, and didn’t say a word. He sniffled and rubbed at his face throughout the drive, but refused to meet with Axel’s eyes, or say anything to him, so Axel let the silence reign, if that was what Roxas wanted; he’d talk whenever he was ready to. They crossed Astoria, took the bridge, and the sniffles became increasingly rarer, with Roxas eventually turning to stare straight ahead, nose and eyes still red but dry enough. A big, deep exhale, and Roxas leaned back onto his seat, some of that weight from last night back onto his shoulders, weighing him down, almost as if casting a cloud over him, and Axel realized that he wasn’t going to talk about it. It’d take a direct question to have him speaking, it seemed, and he had plenty of those to spare. 

“Can I ask what happened?” Voice small, trying not to sound nosey, even though he was. 

A shake of the head, eyes still focused straight ahead. 

“It’s not important. My cousins are dickheads, and I got another fucking warning, but it’s fine. It’s whatever.” 

“What did they do?” 

“They keep taunting me in front of everyone, calling me shit, pushing me around, trying to piss me off. It’s fucking stupid.” 

So all of those warnings and detention slips that tainted this family’s school records were because of themselves. If they could barely even coexist at school for a few hours, then life at Roxas’ aunt’s house must’ve been Hell for everybody involved, the polar opposite of what Axel had once thought, just because they had all seemed like troublemakers of the same kind. It didn’t justify the aunt throwing Roxas’ things out the window and kicking him out like that, but he could see why she’d do it, sick of having to live through that for four years now, the cause of disruption someone that she hadn’t even given birth to, a posthumous gift from her sister. She was still a heartless piece of shit, but Axel understood her motivations for having done what she had done. 

He reached across the divider and gave Roxas two taps on the chest. 

“Good on you for taking the high road and not letting them send you down to detention today.” 

“Thanks.” 

Spoken twenty-four hours too early, because the very next day brought him just that. While waiting for Roxas outside the gates, aimlessly scrolling down his phone again, a sort of ritual at this point, two sets of footsteps crunched the snow towards him, approaching from the flood of students just a few feet away, making him glance up to see two kids that were the definition of white trash down to a T; unwashed, messy ass hair, thick flannel shirts, blue jeans, brown boots, except they wore winter hats instead of fishing ones with hooks on the brim. It made him feel an incredible urge to swap their hats for the right ones and pluck a strand of hay into their mouths just to really bring it all together, despite the fact that they were in the heart of New York fucking City, and these two clowns belonged in the bowels of Tennessee. Squinting, he put his phone away and straightened up, easily over a foot taller than the tallest one. They looked very similar to each other, like brothers would, with the same hair color and skin tone. 

“Hey, Roxas’ faggot boyfriend.” The taller one called, immediately screwing a scowl onto his forehead, because holy shit, what? What the fuck? The only thing more surprising than the slur was the fact that this kid didn’t have a southern accent at all. “He’s not coming today.” 

“Yeah, his gay ass is in detention.” 

Alright, these were clearly Roxas’ cousins, then. He saw it now, the similar face shape, the same body type, the light eyes and blonde hair combination. Roxas looked like a model next to these two, though, with see-through blues that belonged in the oceans of the Maldives and platinum blonde hair that was two shades away from being straight-up white, while these kids had much darker, dirtier hair and green eyes instead. They didn’t look anything like the bullies of Axel’s past, but they spoke in the exact same way, something that he hadn’t heard in so long that he had almost forgotten was still a thing. What a trip. He got it now why Roxas was always roped into so much trouble with these guys; in high school, he had made the exact same mistakes, too, thinking that his short temper was a defense mechanism rather than self-sabotage. It was a weapon against himself more than anything else, and part of the reason why he had dropped out in junior year. His whole living situation had been damaged by it, too, but he’d like to believe that he had managed to get it under control as he grew up. Today, he was a much different person. 

“Thanks for telling me.” Voice low, as sincere as he could make it without outright ignoring these guys. “Did you send him there?” 

“Hell no! He sent his own damn self in there, trying to pick a fight with me. I’m just minding my own business; _ he’s _ the feral one.” 

“Just because he isn’t homeless anymore, he thinks he can get a word in with us.” A scoff, the shorter one making the taller one laugh. Huh. “It doesn’t count if he’s sucking dick for it.” 

“Yeah, we know he’s living with you, faggot.” Slitted eyes focused on his face, a smirk on the corner of this kid’s lip that he would’ve immediately busted if he were ten years younger, and reveled in it, too. Boasted about it for the attention, the satisfaction, only to have gotten in trouble with some sort of an adult figure a second later. Good fucking times. At this point in his life, though, and after everything that he had been through, there was nothing left for a high schooler to say that would’ve made any impact on his person. Right now, if anything, this whole circus was damn near hilarious. 

“Living with _ me _ isn’t exactly correct; he lives in my building. I guess he was tired of sharing a room with you two.” A disinterested shrug, a draw from the cigarette, and he watched the two kids grow livid. 

“No, my mom kicked him out!” 

“It _ wasn’t _ his choice.” 

“She even wrecked his little gay guitar, too.” A smirk, barely suppressed snickering. “You should’ve seen how pissed he was at that. Didn’t even get to sing happy birthday.” 

Full on laughter from the both of them. Happy birthday? 

“The cake was good, though. Too bad he couldn’t have it.” 

“Nah, I don’t think he would’ve liked it; not fruity enough.” 

“You’re right, it wasn’t even pink.” 

“He was evicted on his birthday?” An eyebrow up in sincere surprise, smoke drifting into the air as he spoke, because holy fucking shit, that sucked. That sucked so fucking much. 

At the kids’ laughter, he took it as a yes. Shit. 

They left as unceremoniously as they had arrived, without a proper goodbye or a single wave, throwing bad jokes back and forth and snickering through them on their way back to their bus, to reunite with the flood of students that poured out of the school gates. What a fucking shit-show. Roxas out on the street, grabbing his things off of the sidewalk, covered in snow, his guitar in pieces; maybe that was why he was so upset the other day, when Axel mentioned the electric guitar. God, he didn’t even have his acoustic one anymore. Fuck. Dammit, he wished he had known that beforehand, before even touching on the topic. Where had Roxas spent that night, then? He had only been recruited last week, so where had he been on the meanwhile? The thought gave him chills. For as much as he wanted to know the answer, part of him desperately didn’t. 

Tossing the cigarette end on the ground, he watched the crowd thin out, buses leave, and single students pepper the sidewalk, on their phones, probably waiting for their parents, Roxas not in sight. Detention at his old high school was an hour long, but he didn’t know how this one operated, or even if Roxas’ cousins had been telling the truth, so he walked past the gates and into the school building for some information, since Roxas hadn’t shown up. A tall ceiling, a trophy case with only a handful of them inside, rows of lockers down one hallway, stairways in the distance, and a reception desk near the front doors, the one that Roxas had been at just this Monday. Part of him was disappointed to not find him here this time around, despite the fact that he hadn’t even been expecting that, and walked up to it anyway. 

Behind the tall counter sat a small lady with big glasses on and hair up in a ponytail, focused onto a computer screen that he couldn’t read from here, click-clacking onto an old keyboard loudly enough to echo across her little room. Axel approached, noticed the bell on the counter, and decided not to ring it. The receptionist at his old high school had always hated that. In silence, he watched her type for a second longer, seeming to finish whatever it was that she was doing before turning to glance up at him, her eyes five times too big behind the glasses. Somehow, he couldn’t pin-point how old she was, though, clearly, as evidenced by everything that had happened with Roxas last year, he really wasn’t the best at gauging people’s ages. 

“May I help you?” 

“Hey, yeah, I hope you can.” Voice light, a polite smile on his face. “I’m Roxas’ ride, and I was waiting for him outside, but didn’t see him come out. I’m wondering if you could tell me where he is, if there’s some sort of extra activity that I don’t know about.” 

“Oh. Roxas Spéir.” The name weighed so heavily on her tongue that it even drooped her shoulders. Wow, very popular and woefully disliked, it seemed. Turning back to glance at her computer screen, the lady gave him a small shake of the head. “With the way that he’s been these days, he’s probably in detention right now.” 

“Huh, what do you mean by that?” A slight scowl on his face to feign both concern and confusion, which the little lady bought without a second thought, offering him a hesitant glance in response that told him he had already won the deception game. 

“Mister…” 

“Lea.” 

“Mister Lea, I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure to contact you in regards to Mister Spéir yet. Are you a relative of his?” 

“I’m a friend of the family. He’s been staying with me for the time being.” 

“I see. Well, as I’m sure you’re aware, since the unfortunate passing of Ms. Spéir, Roxas has been… Different. Acting out, lashing out, talking back to his teachers; all of which we understand as common behaviors relating to grief, but it’s also not something that we can condone here at the school. As role models, we set examples for the students, and we can’t treat them differently from one another, as I’m sure you understand. We offered Mr. Spéir counseling, where he could lash out and scream as much as he needs to, but out in the hallways, if we let him do that, we must let all of the other kids do it, as well.” A pause, and the lady shifted on her seat, as if uncomfortable. Everything that she had just said was absolute fucking bullshit, but still he nodded his understanding to it all, forging an alliance with her and the school. “We’ve been trying to get in contact with his aunt to discuss his change of behavior since the guardianship, but she seems to always be far too busy for us. Perhaps we could contact you instead? I’m well aware that Roxas is of age now, and the guardianship no longer applies, but he’s a special case, and, while he’s with us, we’d like an adult figure to keep in contact with, regardless.” 

“Yes, of course. I’d be much obliged, in fact.” 

A small smile tugged onto the woman’s lips, and she asked him for his full name and phone number to be added to their database. He didn’t lie, because he’d actually like to be informed whenever Roxas got sent to detention or did something as reprehensible as publicly defending himself from his cousins’ harassment, and thanked the woman for her kindness. Flattered, she told him that they’d inform him of the next PTA meeting, if he were interested, and also confirmed to him that Roxas was indeed in detention, but that he’d be out within the hour. Axel thanked her, and bid her a noncommittal goodbye, because he wasn’t actually leaving yet, just kind of hanging around for a while. She waved him off with a polite make yourself at home, and turned back to her computer screen. 

When Roxas came out, he had a black notebook under one arm, his backpack slung over a shoulder, and blue eyes focused down at the ground ahead of himself. Standing by the front doors, Axel watched him walk down the hallway surrounded by other teenagers, a handful that left as underwhelmed as he did, some stopping by their lockers while others walked straight out. Axel stepped away from the wall, and, as Roxas approached, blue eyes found his boots, which made him glance up to meet with Axel’s face, a half-smile on it, a bounce of the brows in an attempt at cheering him up. Unsuccessful, and that utterly failed to dispel the sort of gloom that hung around Roxas’ vicinity, but he had tried. Ocean blues promptly slid off his face, a kind of sheepishness on Roxas’ shoulders, how uncomfortably they shrugged. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Small, shy, words that refused to travel very far. 

“I wasn’t going to ask you about it.” He really, actually wasn’t. 

Together, they left for the car. 

“I tried to call you, you know. To tell you I’d be late.” Roxas commented carefully, blue eyes trained away from his face, cast out at the passing cars as they walked along the sidewalk. 

“Ah, shit.” He was a fucking idiot. Pulling out his phone, he tapped onto his contacts list. “Tell me your number again.” 

Roxas did, so he unblocked it and added it back to the list. At that moment, it didn’t occur to him that they’d use this connection for anything other than work, because Roxas had been behaving so appropriately at practice that he had no reason to distrust him with that. In his mind, they had each other’s numbers solely to make micro-adjustments to their schedules due to unpredictability, regardless if Roxas could’ve avoided being sent to detention or not. At this point, that wasn’t what mattered. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t take the high road this time.” Roxas spoke quietly, hands gripping his backpack straps, eyes down at the ground. “I suck at it.” 

“You’re fine; that’s something you’ll come around to with time.” A dismissive shrug, the crunching of their shoes against the snow. “Was it your cousins again?” 

“Yeah. I just don’t know how to shut them out.” 

“You’ll learn how to do that soon enough.” 

“Not before they get me kicked out of this fucking place.” A frustrated sigh, a scowl on Roxas’ forehead, hands closed in tight fists. “That’s what they’ve been trying to do this whole time, and I’m such a fucking idiot, I keep falling for it every time.” 

“Why would they want that?” 

“Because they want to fuck me over!” An angry kick, snow dusting up into a thin, white cloud around the black of Roxas’ shoes. 

Huh. If that was true, then it seemed that Roxas’ cousins held a much bigger, much deeper grudge against him that surpassed their homophobia, because prejudice was easy, it was simple, and turned people into idiots, but this felt a lot more personal. Joining forces to get Roxas wiped out of the school entirely couldn’t simply have stemmed from his sexual orientation, but from something that must’ve happened during their time living together, because this targeted aim felt like retribution, and Axel knew a thing or two about that, mainly how to spot it in disguise, if he weren’t the deliverer of it himself. Whatever it was that Roxas had done to these kids was being paid twofold, and Axel really didn’t want to know it; Roxas cared about school, cared about graduating enough to continue even after failing a grade, even having to endure his cousins’ bullshit day after day, and Axel didn’t need any other reason to see to his graduation. It was very clear to him that, being in charge of Roxas’ successes, it was his responsibility to see to them regardless of anything else, and no number of underage hicks would pose a problem to that. He knew how to deal with it. 

“Don’t worry about that, man.” Light-hearted and kind, he reached across the small gap between them and gave Roxas a tap on the shoulder. “I’m sure they’ll fall through.” 

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter. You were right.” A shake of the head, the anger around him seeming to morph back into gloom. “Finishing school is stupid, and I don’t even think I’ll be able to, anyway. It’s a goddamn waste of time.” 

“Hey, no, c’mon; it’s important to you. It’s important overall.” 

“No, it’s not. You said I’m better off quitting, and you were right. I’m not coming tomorrow.”

Ah, shit. Shit. 

“No, hold on. Don’t be like that. You want to graduate, don’t you? And you’re only a few months away from it, too; don’t pussy out now, man.” 

“No, I can’t do it. There’s just no way I’ll be able to do it.” 

“Yes, there is. Of course there is, Roxas; you still have plenty of time to get your grades back up.” 

“That’s not it!” Annoyance in Roxas’ tone, in the scowl on his forehead. “They don’t want me at the school anymore; I’m not worth the trouble, and if I keep fucking up, they’ll kick me out. They've made that clear enough, and I’m not improving, dude! You should’ve seen Mr. Brown’s face when I showed up for fucking detention, like he wanted to shoot me dead.” 

“I’m sure the situation isn’t as dire as you think it is.” 

“Yes, Axel, it _ is! _ They told me that _ just _ yesterday!” Voice loud, getting the attention of passersby that crossed paths with them. Axel remained composed. 

“Then keep going until they have no choice but to kick you out. If you throw in the towel this early into the game, then you’re not even playing. I mean, you already know the results; what have you got to lose on the way there?” 

Reluctance from Roxas, in the eyes that dropped down from Axel’s face, in his hesitation to reply right away. In silence, as they approached the car to get in, he seemed to consider it, a breath leaving his lungs, pursed lips in distaste and a slouch to get the point across. He wasn’t happy about it. 

“I guess you’re right.” Mumbled just before he pulled the door open. 

Despite Roxas’ situation at school, his performance during practice had only improved, and exponentially, too. The grumpy and moody attitude that classes had put him in during the day completely vanished the moment that they arrived at the office, with small smiles and little jokes on the way across the parking lot, and big grins by the time they stepped foot into the sparring room. His demeanor completely changed in the span of half an hour, and impressed Axel every single time. He followed commands correctly, understood criticism, and applied that to his form, moving faster and more confidently with each class, having fun while doing so, and making those two and a half hours kind of fly by, feeling too short. It was so fruitful and productive that it kind of floored Axel every time, and by Thursday night had him looking forward to writing the reports, because maybe this could work, and maybe they wouldn’t need Marluxia, after all. Those were only thoughts to be pitched to Xemnas when the time came, though; the final decision wasn’t his to make. He was still thinking about what to say exactly. 

“You’re going to the gym, right?” Roxas asked as they crossed the basement, his nice voice echoing off the white walls, the entire place pristinely lit up with rows of bright light. 

“Yeah. Are you coming?” At this point, fighting over that was useless. 

“No, I don’t think so.” 

What? Hold on. That was good news, and Axel didn’t want to jinx it somehow, to make Roxas change his mind all of a sudden, but he also really wanted to know the reason behind that choice, when Roxas had been so adamant to join him just two days ago. What had changed? No, he shouldn’t ask; it probably didn’t even matter. Although, it must’ve been huge if it made Roxas want to let go of spending time together, his favorite thing in the world, it seemed. Had something happened? Fuck it, he had to know. 

“Why not?” 

A shrug, sheepish, awkward, and blue eyes refused to meet with his face, cast off to the side. Huh. 

“That place, it’s… I don’t know.” A pause, hesitant, and he could read the discomfort on Roxas’ body, how he held himself, the stiffness of his shoulders, hands grabbing onto the hem of his shirt. “It feels like porn, you know, being there. Like, just watching everybody. I don’t… Want that.” 

God, he was completely right about that. It _ was _ porn, and that was where a lot of people went to hook up during the week, Axel included. Not lately, but overall, yeah. 

“I get that, it’s fine. I mean, you’re right; it is porn, like, I don’t know what to tell you here, but you don’t have to go at all. I can drop you off at home.” 

“Thanks.” Small and sheepish, shoulders up in a shrug that never happened. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” He reached over and ruffled Roxas’ hair, getting a smile and a shove out of him, shoulders down, awkwardness gone. 

His friends were surprised to see him unaccompanied tonight, half-expecting Roxas to be with him at every turn by now, which he really couldn’t blame them for, but not this time. No, he explained that Roxas wouldn’t be coming to the gym anymore, because practice was tough enough as it was, and more than sufficient workout for a teenager. They didn’t need to know the real reason behind that choice, and he didn’t care to share it, either, especially when they all seemed suspicious of him already. The more he steered clear of that trap, the better. Despite the skepticism, nobody said a word to contradict him, and they simply moved on to something else; the club tomorrow, and how Demyx had already told Xigbar that the pre-game would be at his place. Great, why hadn’t he asked everybody else _ before _ doing that? Because he knew that no one would back him on it, so he just went ahead regardless. Wasn’t Axel going? A snort, a scowl on his forehead, and a grunted out _ I fucking guess _ as he lay on the bench press. There wasn’t really much choice here. 

In the showers, a memory of Roxas, momentary, the look on his face when Axel had pushed the stall door open for him, the fire in his eyes, how he had watched Axel exercise the entire time here. Porn, yeah, watching him stretch and flex. Alone in a stall, he turned on the water, thinking of Roxas in the stall next to him, teasing him, pushing him on purpose, and what he must’ve looked like, the shit-eating grin that must’ve been on his face then. The few times in his bathroom, against the glass with Roxas in his arms, or kneeling in front of him instead, hands in his hair and knees pushing on his shoulders, trembling thighs against his face. God, in the dim yellow of the bathroom he had barely been able to see the scars on Roxas’ skin, eyes closed, anyway, hands on the meat of Roxas’ thighs to hold him up, knees buckling under his own weight; he had never gotten head before. No, dammit, none of that! Not right now. Water turned to cold, and Roxas’ voice in his brain, echoing moans, little whimpers, how he had been the first to make him feel that good. A breath in, deep, deep, and he held it there for as long as he could, water as cold as he could make it, shivering through his shower, because Roxas had cursed this place, too, like he knew that he would. Fuck. 

On Friday, as soon as he got to the office, he decided to set his priorities straight, because they had practice later, but he was also going out with the guys and needed time to get ready, plus there was the whole cousin situation to sort out, and his other business to attend to; tails and reports and follow-ups on those. So, one thing at a time. First, Roxas’ report; that was weekly, so he could do it next Monday, no problem. Yesterday’s tail report he could do this morning, the cousin business he could research after that, though, if he were going to act on it, he’d need to do it tonight for immediate effect, and there were only so many hours in an evening. Obviously, practice came first, but it’d probably have to get cut short to allow him time to get ready for the pre-game at fucking Xigbar’s, but when was he going after Roxas’ cousins, then? He’d have to stick that in the middle of it all, somewhere; maybe after practice, but then he wouldn’t have time to get ready, or even attend the pre-game at all. Maybe after the pre-game, then? No, no fucking way, and much less after the club, either, which circled him back to the first, original option, though there was no conceivable time for all of it; he’d have to cross something out. The responsible choice here would be to miss the pre-game entirely, so he’d at least have time to get ready for the club, and, actually, the thought was a surprisingly pleasant one, so he’d stick to it. Aw, Dem, I’m sorry; _ I’m _ the one sucking Xemnas off tonight, please don’t be mad. I promise this has nothing to do with you or Xigbar or his jackass roommates, for real. I’ll still show up in time for the club, don’t worry; two bumps on the chest and a peace sign. 

Practice could run its natural course tonight; he’d drop Roxas off at the building afterwards, and, wait, was Roxas going with the others? He better fucking not be; there were at least fifteen subjects for him to study this weekend, no time for parties, and much less underage drinking. He’d talk to him about that, and talk him out of it, too, just in case. Alright, drop Roxas off, go solve the whole cousin situation, come back, get ready, and meet up with everybody regardless of how late he’d be for the pre-game, if still in time for it at all. If anything, he could get drunk at the club. Unfortunately, however, that meant that the follow-ups would have to be postponed for next week, possibly Monday afternoon, though he didn’t feel particularly upset about that. It wasn’t super urgent, and his day was already completely full. 

A little research told him that the Spéir cousins were in four: James, twenty, employee at a Kmart near his house possibly stacking boxes, caught drinking in public a few times, but not jailed for it; Benjamin, eighteen, unemployed, caught smoking pot a few times, but only jailed once, and made bail; Nicholas, seventeen, commonly referred to as Nicky in his school records, a plethora of low Bs and high Cs, relatively mild trouble, though not seeming to be the real starter of anything; and John, fifteen, commonly referred to as Johnny in his school records, a lot more warnings and detention slips in his name than Nicky’s, possibly the demon child and most of Roxas’ problems, if Axel had to guess. James clocked out at nine, and, even though he wasn’t exactly Axel’s target here, the brothers all carried police records mentioning how all four of them were always huddled up in some empty parking lot or other to drink and smoke together more than just a few times. It was Friday night. Hopefully, James would clock out, grab his brothers, and go somewhere decently far away from their mother’s house for a nice little talk. Axel would stop by Kmart after work. 

As expected, practice went well; Roxas was fully responsive to commentary and was getting in better shape with each session, too, not running out of breath as quickly, and not getting completely fatigued within an hour and a half anymore. Fake punches, fake holds, fake attacks, and Roxas eventually decided that that was enough, and he wanted something real. Not a fight to draw blood, but instead of rehearsed moves, he wanted both of them to just freestyle; less like a dance, and more like one jumping the other on the street. Alright, Axel could get down with that, but he still wasn’t going to hurt him. No, no hurting, but no letting Roxas win, either. Deal. 

It went without saying that Roxas still had a lot to learn and would never sincerely beat Axel this early into training, but it was a good series of matches, anyway, with Roxas giving it his all, applying all of his knowledge and gut into it, and Axel pretty much chaining everything that they had rehearsed so far, with new little moves here and there, sprinkled throughout the fight, to catch Roxas by surprise. They got him good, and had him asking after them without fail; what was that? How did he do that? How could he counter that? And inadvertently learning more from it, too. A particular move touched a nerve, though, when, in the middle of Roxas’ punches, Axel swiped a leg beneath Roxas’ feet and took his balance away, but didn’t actually let him fall, catching him just as the surprise hit and pissed Roxas off. He knew that, if he fell, it meant game over, because the chances of getting up while getting kicked were very, very slim, and focused onto dodging that move instead. Well, he couldn’t, really, because there was no telling when Axel would do it, so his best bet would have to be a different strategy. Hm, maybe he could take Axel down with him, then. Yeah, that was good, but Axel wasn’t going to tell him how. No problem, he’d figure it out himself. 

Another match, and Roxas tried to bring Axel down, but his fingers slipped, and missed, and it didn’t work at all. Another try with the same result, frustration building up, and Axel told him where to grab, how to grab it. Okay, Roxas took note of that, and when Axel tripped him again, he managed to hold onto the right places, which prevented him from falling, but didn’t bring Axel down with him, either. Instead, he had simply held onto Axel to get back onto both feet. Dammit, no, that wasn’t what he wanted! How the fuck had Axel not fallen from that? Well, he was much bigger and much heavier than Roxas; it’d take far more weight than that to pull him down. Huh, Roxas took that into account with a look on his face that Axel knew meant he had arrived at the correct, and expected, conclusion. Alright, again. They sparred, Axel tripped him, hands grabbed him in the right places, held onto him, and Roxas’ legs came up to weigh him down and send him tumbling perfectly onto the ground. It didn’t hurt, because he knew how to land safely, with his hands and knees in the right places, and Roxas right beneath him, panting, a gorgeous smile on his face. Victory looked good on him. 

“Good boy.” Low, spoken in the small space between them, the two inches that kept their faces apart, and Roxas bit his lip in response, blue eyes burning. Of course. The legs around him squeezed, and he almost caved right there, almost leaned down to sandwich Roxas against the ground and feel him up and grind on him. No. Heart beating out of his chest, skin burning, hands closed into fists, and he made to move away, but didn’t; soft hands found the hem of his shirt and slipped under it, running up his back, leaving goosebumps in their wake. God, a breath in his lungs, head hanging low, forehead pressed to Roxas’ temple, nose brushing along his cheekbone. He missed him so fucking much, and Roxas did, too; God, he wanted this. Hands grabbed him by the shoulders, and Roxas raised himself up, trying to get closer, because he wouldn’t budge, because he refused to lean down, a forearm on the ground and knees firmly in place, planted onto the soft padding of the mat beneath them, pushing into it with both of their weight combined. Roxas arched his back so their stomachs grazed, just lightly, damp cotton keeping them apart. 

“Do I get a prize?” Whispered tentatively into his ear, Roxas’ lips on his skin, a kiss to his jaw, and he shuddered, eyes closed. Fuck. 

“No.” Spoken as he made to leave again, but could only manage to move so they could see each other instead, blue watching green as the hands on his shoulders gripped tight and the thighs around him squeezed in protest. God, he could fuck him right now. 

“C’mon, it’s after hours. I did good, I…” Breathless, a slight scowl on Roxas’ forehead, and he spoke with ocean blues on fire, watching Axel’s mouth, a tongue to swipe over his lips, and he could’ve fucking kissed him right there, but didn’t, jaw set. “I’ve been good, Axel; I waited all week for this, please. Please.” 

Heart punching him in the throat, Roxas’ cologne smeared with sweat up his nose, in his lungs, driving him crazy, how Roxas panted beneath him, arching up to meet with his body. A reach, Roxas closing the distance between them to nibble on his lip, round teeth soft on his skin, and he angled his face for a kiss, eyes closed, blood hot. Their faces met hard, teeth nearly clinking together, and he burned; a sort of elation boiling in his veins that said this was good, it was perfect, it was everything that he needed, and he promptly caved to it, giving Roxas what he wanted, leaning down to lie on him and crush him under his weight, lungs full, a noise from Roxas to swallow with his tongue. He felt him through the soft fabric of his sweatpants, hard against the low of his stomach, where their hips met and pushed together. A hand on Roxas’ thigh, on the crease where it met his body, pulling it up, holding it, and he ground down on him, his entire body on ecstasy, fingers prickling, a deep moan from Roxas that died right on his tongue and was music to the ears; traveled straight down to his cock and had him grinding harder, biting onto his lips almost hard enough to split them. He burned and held him tight and kissed him hard and it was so visceral, so hungry and possessive and all-consuming that nothing else mattered, that Roxas was his entire life, that this was what everything amounted to. 

Mostly clothed, with Roxas’ boxers and pants pulled down his thighs nothing more than enough, spread apart so they hugged Axel’s hips, the waistband of his pants stretched across the low of Axel’s stomach, bare, always shirtless for this, with his own pants pulled down just so he could push into Roxas, hard, and deep, feeling his skin burn and his blood boil, thigh on thigh as their hips met. The hands on his back pierced through the flesh there, drawing a hiss out of him and nothing else, eyes closed, teeth on Roxas’ lips and his entire self focused on how good he felt, thrusting fast, fucking him hard, staggering him against the padded ground, crushed heavy onto the mat below. Heavenly, and sinful, and making his blood sing, he pushed in deep, fingers grabbing onto the meat of Roxas’ thigh and marking it, tongue down Roxas’ throat to swallow his voice, and he could’ve died here, like this, with Roxas on his skin and goosebumps across his body. 

Hands tangled into his hair, teeth broke the skin of his lips, thighs squeezed him into a body lock and Roxas whimpered, moaned, arching off the ground, squirming as he got close, like cocaine in the bloodstream, making Axel’s heart pound fast and grow addicted. Hips meeting hard, thighs trembling, fingernails drawing blood from his back, and Roxas mewled, a deep scowl on his face, angled up as he threw his head back and jerked upward, shaking as he came, the nails on Axel’s back stinging like Hell, but good, somehow. Axel fucked him through it, as he jerked and shuddered and bit his own lip to muffle himself quiet, his boxers and pants catching all of it. A much deeper thrust, and Axel let the wave ride him, too, stilling all movement, buried to the hilt as he crashed and shivered and dug his fingers into Roxas’ thigh. He breathed through it, sharp, shallow, glancing up to find two blues locked on his face, two slits that poked through hooded lids and glinted in the dying fire and were the most beautiful thing that he had ever seen; ocean waves that watched him in silence and made him shiver. 

One deep breath in, and it was fine. It was fine; the overwhelming warmth and tenderness that he felt for Roxas, that were always there every single day of his life but sort of took him by storm right now, that made his heart beat deeper and his lungs feel full and his entire body grow warm didn’t mean anything. It was normal, it wasn’t new, and he didn’t have to worry about it, because it was fine. It was nothing, and he told himself that while getting dressed and worrying about it and trying not to freak out, because it was [REDACTED], but it wasn’t. It wasn’t. Oh, God, it couldn’t be, but his heart choked him every time Roxas smiled and his blood sang every time Roxas touched him and he felt warm next to him, as if they were meant to be together, because their closeness was the only right thing in his life, but he didn’t know that, he couldn’t know that, and it was fine. It was fine. They got dressed, grabbed their bags, left for the car, and when Roxas took his hand, he held back twice as firmly. 

In the car, he breathed. His hands squeezed the wheel, his arms shivered, and Roxas talked, but he wasn’t listening, muffled by the static in his brain, because it _ wasn’t _ love. It wasn’t love. His heart raced, his jaw set, and he drove on auto-pilot, seeing the road but not registering it, breaking at a red light but not thinking about it, non-responsive to anything that Roxas was saying, because it was fine, it was fine. It wasn’t that. It wasn’t it. He had always felt inclined towards Roxas; had liked him since the moment that he had first seen him, sitting at the Brass, playing drunk Uno with his friends, dressed up in all black and looking like a fallen angel; in the hotel room, under the morning light, sleeping quietly, hair bright in the light, his Green Day shirt ridden halfway up his back, a contrast against the whiteness of his skin, smooth, soft, perfect, and his throat closed, eyebrows scowled; he couldn’t breathe. He had never felt like this before. It didn’t mean anything, though; he didn’t even _ know _ what [REDACTED] felt like, had never experienced it himself, and couldn’t _ really _ know, suddenly, if that was it, right now. If that had been it last Sunday, if that had been it two months ago a dozen times. No, that was the afterglow; the elation, the infatuation, the momentary fire, but why did it feel so soft, and mellow, and tender in his chest, like Roxas’ hand in his own, like that kiss in the bathroom? Coming down from it, of course, from a huge mistake, probably, from what he definitely shouldn’t have done, not while tutoring Roxas, not at _ work, _ oh, God; not after hours, either, even if it had felt so right, even if Roxas was the best one yet, even if he kind of didn’t want anybody else now, because it wasn’t the same, because Roxas was the only one, because the man from last week made him sick, and he still wanted to tell Roxas about it, but didn’t, and wouldn’t, because it didn’t matter; they _ weren’t _ together. They would never be together. He didn’t do relationships, he didn’t do _ love, _ and they had fucked in the office and oh my fucking god. Oh my goddamn fucking god, he was going to have a panic attack. Fuck. Shit. Xemnas was going to _ fucking kill him. _

“Axel?” 

Suddenly, he breathed. 

“You’re going, right?” 

The question made his mind draw a huge, huge blank on what they were talking about. 

“Where? Sorry, I’m fucked up. I wasn’t listening.” 

Off to the right, Roxas moved, but he didn’t look, eyes staring out the windshield and not seeing it. 

“To the club. Everyone’s going tonight.” 

“Right, yeah. Of course they are.” 

“Are you?” 

“Yes.” 

Of course he was going, too, and, honestly, getting shit-faced right now sounded awesome, exactly what he needed, just drowning out his thoughts and forgetting who he even was, but he had something to do first, a schedule to keep and a stop to make. Well, two, actually; first, at the building, to drop Roxas off, then at Kmart, to drop in on James and the others. He had time. Wait, did he? The clock on his dashboard read a quarter past seven, and oh my god they had fucked for an entire ass hour in the building where he _ worked, _ but, hey, he had time. He had time. The schedule had not been affected at all, because James wouldn’t clock out until nine. If anything, they could have two repeats back-to-back right here, and oh, God, keep it together. Keep it the fuck together. 

“I don’t think I’m coming.” Roxas commented, sheepish, in that little tone of his that was so telling, that was so see-through that Axel didn’t even have to look over to know exactly how he was sitting right now, with his little shoulders drawn up, back slightly off the seat, and hands on the hem of his shirt, just tugging at it, anxious. Somehow, Roxas wasn’t freaking out about what had just happened, or how fucking insane it had been, but it was fine. It was fine; it wasn’t a big deal. He seemed self-conscious about something else. “I’m taking up your advice, and not partying until my grades are back up. It’s a good idea.” 

“Yeah, smart.” And good news, too, because that meant he didn’t have to go through the ordeal of getting Roxas to change his mind, which was exactly what he had wanted and hoped for from the beginning, but why did his chest feel like it had been caved in with a sledgehammer from it? A quick sidelong glance at Roxas, just because he always did that, because it was second nature at this point, and the moment green met blue, he immediately looked back at the street, as if shocked by them, a tazer to the heart. They were so big, and soft, and round, and bright, and _ on him, _ and he just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t look at them right now. His arms shivered, his throat closed, and he couldn’t do it. “You know I’ll help you if I can, right? If you even need help, I mean. I don’t remember much from high school, but I can solve a Pythagorean theorem with my eyes closed, cross my heart.” 

“God, I almost forgot you have a degree in Statistics.” Light-hearted, sweet, and he could picture the smile on Roxas’ face, lips rounding around the words, and his pulse jumped. He was fucked. “How much of a nerd are you?” 

“Just enough to get in AP Physics, apparently.” 

A scoff from Roxas, through the smile, but he still wouldn’t look. 

“Let me guess. You graduated with honors and a kiss on the cheek, too.” 

“Uh, I probably would have, yeah, if I hadn’t had so many tardies, or failed French twice. Peu m’importe, though.” 

“Wait, _ would _ have?” 

“Yeah, I dropped out in junior year. Too much shit was going on at that time.” 

“Oh.” Soft, small, barely audible, and he could picture Roxas’ shoulders dropping. It wasn’t a big deal.

Silence fell for a minute, and he decided against changing that right away, letting his mind clear out, with nothing to fog it up for a second, only his focus on the street and navigating through it. Closed businesses darkened the city with their lights off, getting shut for the night, cars joining the stream to reach their homes, traffic lights coloring them red and green, shining on the hood and the sides in long streaks, the snow in bright lumps over the sidewalk. Lined up lamp posts along the road cast dull, yellow glows as they drove through town, flashing on the dashboard in a rhythmic pattern, lighting up their clothes and skin in between darkness. 

“I’m not going up with you today.” He commented airily, eyes fixed out the windshield, the taillights of the car ahead shining bright. “I have some business to take care of before calling it a night.” With his cousins, no less, but that was confidential information. 

“Okay.” A pause, and Roxas moved, but he trained his eyes ahead. “Do you have time for dinner? We could hit up a McDonald’s drive-through or something. I’m, like, starving.” 

A glance down at the clock on the dashboard, seven-thirty. Hm. 

“I guess we could do a drive-through, but not fucking McDonald’s. Have some taste.” A free exit on the right, and a mental map of all the closest burger joints that he wouldn’t actually hate stopping at. “At least let’s go to fucking Wendy’s.” 

Laughter from Roxas and it sounded better than music. 

Drive-throughs anywhere were always stupidly full at this hour, because the entire town was out looking for food right now, which rendered the both of them locked together in the car for much longer than Axel had meant to spend out here, even though he knew exactly what he was getting himself into, and, boxed in by a Toyota directly behind himself, he couldn’t simply bail out of this one. It was a commitment. Radio on, Roxas flipping through the stations to find one that he liked, only to fill the car with loud static and cut-off portions of popular songs instead, until he got tired of it and eventually decided to pair his phone to the Mercedes’ bluetooth. Even though it kind of annoyed the shit out of him, Axel didn’t say anything, going through his emails in the meantime, inching forward every two minutes. Nothing but junk, and no new messages, either; none of his friends really texted each other, only called. They weren’t sixteen. The Strokes came on, and he glanced up to see Roxas lock his phone, finally satisfied. Blue met green, and, this time, he didn’t look away. 

“What are you doing tomorrow?” 

A big breath, and what _ was _ he doing tomorrow? He only had today planned out so far. 

“Probably nothing, if you don’t count nursing a hangover as doing something. Why?” 

“No, I don’t think that counts, because you can do other stuff while you do that, like sleeping, and throwing up, and crying in the shower.” 

A scoff, a half-smile on his face, and his chest was warm. 

“Why do you want to know?” 

Shoulders up, that sheepish look on Roxas’ face, and part of him already knew what he was going to say. 

“What if I take you up on the study session help thing? I kind of suck at math, and, at this point, I’ll take any help I can get, anyway, so.” 

Huh. Would that be the worst thing ever, or just a genuinely good idea? He couldn’t really tell, not right now, not when his chest felt so warm, his life succeeded at feigning peace, and blue eyes watched him expectantly, hopefully, Roxas’ face on the brink of a smile, making his heart skip. He wanted to see that happen, and largely constructed his response around that premise. 

“Sure; come over tomorrow and we’ll see what I can do for you, if anything at all.” 

The smile broke through, bright, brilliant, and he allowed himself to drown in it, heart beating deeper, a tug on his own lips. 

“I think you can help me more than you’re leading on. You’re really smart.” 

“So are you.” 

“No, not really.” Bashful, blue eyes slid off to the side, Roxas turning away some. The taillights of the Mazda ahead shone red on him, blonde hair orange, shining bright, skin as if sunburnt. 

“You write music, don’t you? You need metric, you need rhythm, you need at least a handful of words for it; you’re smarter than you think. That shit’s hard.” 

Silence, thoughtful, Roxas taking that into account. Every single word, always taken into account with him. A momentary thought, fleeting, that Axel should probably be careful with what he said around him, but that was quickly overrun by pride. 

“You don’t even know if what I write is any good. It could be all trash.” 

“Sing something, then. Whatever you’re working on right now, and I’ll tell you if it is.” 

“No fucking way.” Scoffed out, almost indignant. 

“Why not? I’m not going to be a dick about it, you know that.” 

“I know, I just…” Biting his lip, Roxas leaned back onto his seat, blue eyes brown under the red light, cast off into the distance, hands grabbing the bottom of his shirt. “I’ve never shown any of them to anyone.” 

“You know you’ll need an audience to perform, right? Like, people will be listening to your music.” 

“I know! But, by then, they’ll already like me. They’ll already like my music.” 

“Yeah, so what’s the hold up? You said you can sing.” 

“I mean, I _ think _ I can.” 

“So show me.” 

Blue met green, held them for a breath, jaw set, shoulders up, and then slid off, back to the lit up buttons on the dashboard, glowing white amid the partial dark. 

“No, I can’t; I don’t even have a guitar.” 

“Do you only sing with it?” 

“Kind of.” 

Hm. No, he wasn’t going to bring up what Roxas’ cousins had told him yesterday. 

“Roxas, I don’t sing, I don’t make music, I don’t even play an instrument. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen here? Seriously, worst-case scenario, tell me.” 

“I guess… I don’t know. I’m not afraid that you’re going to hate it, because I don’t care about that. I actually kind of hope that you hate it.” 

“So what’s the big deal?” 

“I don’t know! I’ve never shown my work to anybody, and what if you think it’s stupid? What if you hear it, and you think that it doesn’t make any sense, and that I’m just being a fucking idiot?” 

“So what if I do? It’s music; it can be whatever you want it to be.” 

“No, but… But what if I don’t _ want _ it to be stupid? What if I want it to be real, and truthful, and part of who I am, part of what I’m feeling? What if I don’t want you to relate, but I’m singing to you because I want you to understand me?” Blue held green wide-open, unveiled to the center of Roxas’ heart, laid bare for Axel to see and realize just how personal that really was, how vulnerable that made him. It took trust to open up, through music or otherwise, and that was Roxas’ struggle. Axel understood that better than most. “What if you don’t like what you hear?” 

“I find that hard to believe, because I already like you.” 

Blue eyes held green for a heartbeat, then glanced off, speechless. Under the red glow of the Mazda ahead, Axel couldn’t see the color of Roxas’ face change. 

“Listen, I’m not going to make you do it.” Turning around, he glanced out the windshield again. “I was just curious.” 

Movement on his right, Roxas shuffling with his bag to take out a notebook from it, the one that he had been carrying out of detention just yesterday, recognizable by the band stickers on the covers. He propped it on his knees and split it open, flipping through the pages as if searching for something. When he found it, he stopped and stared at it. 

“It won’t sound good without a rhythm.” 

“It’s fine, you don’t have to show me.” 

“No, it… It’s about you.” 

Alright, that had his eyebrows rising, because he didn’t think that Roxas actually wrote about him, or even really gave him much thought, which, clearly, in retrospect, was stupid, but he just, well. He didn’t really know what he thought. In his mind, Roxas wrote about hating society and not being understood by anyone, but his extremely superficial knowledge of MCR probably didn’t help with that stereotype. Instead of reading out loud, Roxas offered the notebook to him, eyes down, face practically turned aside. He took it slowly, carefully, taking note of how reluctant Roxas seemed to be when letting go of it. 

“Just don’t read anything else.” Small, almost shy. 

“I won’t.” 

Under the red glow of the Mazda and the overhead lighting from Wendy’s windows, he tilted the page a bit, enough to allow him to read it; a song about their first encounter at the Brass two months ago. Roxas had been sitting with strangers at the time, playing their game and drinking their beer; people that he had never seen before that night, and would probably never see again, either. He thought that Axel would be the same case; a simple one-night stand, the kind of guy that bought him anything that he wanted and pretended to be interested in his bullshit for a good twenty minutes before taking him to a hotel down the road, cash on hand, to either fuck him or kill him; what was the difference? Either would be fine, and when he laid down with both arms open, he had already checked out of the next hour or two. That had been the intention, anyway, but Axel was different. Axel brought him back and breathed air into his lungs and made his heart beat and his body burn and his entire life break apart, because sex had never been good, but this _ was. _ For a second, he thought that he had changed; that he had started to like it, that he was finally growing up, that seventeen felt different from fifteen, but it couldn’t be. It made no sense. He had just chosen the wrong people this entire time, which was far easier to believe, and kind of broke his heart, too, because it could’ve been Axel from the beginning, and it could’ve been Axel always, but it wasn’t, and it hadn’t been. In the morning, he’d be gone, and they’d never see each other again, and his life would always be different, and the past had just gotten a lot worse. The title of the song was You Ruined My Life (But I Am Fine). 

That was a lot. There was so much to unpack here that he didn’t even know where to start, but his heart squeezed, and his throat closed, and all he could think of was how he’d never let Roxas go. He’d never let the past catch up, and he’d never leave, and Roxas would always, always be okay, at his side, under his care and full attention. His top priority, regardless of consequence. He knew loneliness and he knew pain and he wouldn’t let Roxas go through any of that again. Closing the notebook, he handed it back. 

“You’re very poetic. How are you going to turn poetry into punk rock?” 

“Punk rock _ is _ poetry, Axel; I just need a guitar now.” 

He guessed that he couldn’t really argue with that, and made a mental note of it. 

After dropping Roxas off and getting a bright, bright smile in parting, he thought about it all the way to Astoria, driving as if on auto-pilot, not watching the road but seeing it, not registering the exits but taking them anyway, the route that he took everyday at three in the afternoon, except he wouldn’t see Roxas at the end of it this time. Kmart wasn’t far from the school, only a few blocks from it, and just about to close when he got to it, parking at the far back to monitor the back door. Headlights off, a quarter to nine, he sat and he waited, his mind on Roxas’ smile, his brain going over the intricacy of his words, their first time together, how fearless Roxas had been in the face of danger, and how much he hadn’t cared. His chest squeezed and his wrist burned, because he knew that feeling; the bottom of the pit, falling in and not feeling the wind, not feeling the fear, jumping voluntarily just to feel something. A deep breath out, and he had moved on from it a long time ago, but what about Roxas? His wrists, his thighs; goddammit, Axel hadn’t thought to take note of them recently, an opportunity for that just a couple of hours ago. In Marluxia’s apartment, how did Roxas sleep? How did his roommates treat him? With his cousins taken care of, would he be happier? Would he feel better? With his heart beating deep and sound, he watched Kmart employees start to trickle out of the back door, James among them, his stupid fucking redneck style standing out like a sore thumb in this town. Why were they like this? Alone, James crossed the parking lot to his car and got in. Headlights back on, and the chase was about to begin. 

Just as he had suspected, James left Kmart to meet up with his brothers at a 7-Eleven not too far away, where the other three waited for him with cans of beer in a bag and cigarettes between their fingers. With everybody in the car, James took off for the docks in Brooklyn, actually getting to be very close to the organization’s warehouse, which, on the one hand, he guessed was a fun coincidence, but, on the other, not super surprising, because this spot was kind of perfect for illegal activity, hence the warehouse in the first place. They parked behind a closed business, left the car and sat on the hood, doors open, all of them in thick jean jackets and winter hats, alone in the deserted parking lot. Axel parked decently far away and walked over. 

They didn’t recognize him immediately, not in the partial darkness, and not from a distance, either, only taking note of his presence once he was close enough to be seen, catching the eye of one of them, and scaring the shit out of him, too. The kid didn’t scream, but jumped back and spilled his beer all over himself, which was fucking hilarious, but only managed to crack a smile on Axel’s face. At their brother’s freak out, the others glanced in his direction, zeroing in on him, beer cans half-hidden away in case he was a cop. James shouted some unfriendly threats in an attempt to keep him at bay, but they had no effect on him as he approached anyway, nonchalant, and stopped well within view of them all, but still out of the spotlight. That was when the two youngest brothers finally recognized him. 

“Hey, wait, we know this guy.” One of them said, who he assumed must’ve been Nicky. “That's Roxas’ sugar daddy.” 

The smile on his face remained, although far less joyful and a lot more sinister now. Nicky’s comment had the brothers getting up from their seats. 

“Is that right?” 

“Yeah, I remember him.” 

“What do you want, faggot? Roxas isn’t with us.” 

“I’m here for a deal, James. You’re the only one who works, even if it’s in packaging and you make minimum wage, but still the only one I care to talk to. Are you interested?” Impassive, voice low and calm, eyes fixed on James’ dirty face to completely ignore the others. 

Suspicion narrowed his eyes, but interest tilted his head. Bingo. 

“What kind of deal?” 

“You and your brothers never talk to Roxas again. In fact, you don’t even so much as look at him. Think you can get those clowns to do that?” 

A scoff from someone on the right, a click of the tongue on the left, and James squinted harder. 

“What’s in it for us?” 

“Name your price.” 

As expected, that raised James’ brows and widened his eyes. So far, great strides with them. The other three that surrounded James all seemed to be affected, as well, because they promptly turned to whisper their opinions to him, how much they thought he should ask for. Before replying, James turned to them in a sort of council, with all four of them huddled up together in a tight circle, whispering to each other for a verdict. Axel’s phone read nine forty-five and a missed call from Aqua, a message left afterwards. Shit, he had forgotten to tell her that he wouldn’t be able to make it for the pre-game. Well, he’d call her back as soon as he was done here. Putting his phone away, he watched the four brothers seem to come to a conclusion, and turn around to look at him, James at the forefront of them all. 

“We want five hundred dollars.” Stern and serious and that was _ it? _ Change money? He could’ve laughed, but decided against it, to keep the illusion that these guys drove a hard deal. 

“Five hundred dollars and none of you speak to Roxas ever again, yeah?” 

“That’s right.” 

“We don’t give a fuck about him, anyway.” 

“Fuck Roxas.” 

Opening his wallet, he pulled out five hundred and tossed the bills to the ground, right in front of himself. 

“Deal.” Spoken as he watched the brothers all stare down at the money by his boots, as if perplexed, and kind of pissed off. Nicky and James pushed Johnny to go get it, hushing whispers for him to do it, because, apparently, no one wanted to get too close. Coerced, Johnny quickly walked over, and leaned down for the cash, but never made it to the ground, because Axel took him by the collar and pulled a knife to his throat. Green eyes immediately widened, filled with tears, and the others all jolted upright, scared shitless. Holding Johnny, Axel leaned closer. 

“If any of you break our deal, this conversation is going to be very different a second time around. Do you understand?” Low and menacing, but still loud enough for all of the others to hear. In silence, Johnny did his best to nod, eyes down at the blade to his neck, covered in tears. Satisfied, he let Johnny go, shoving him back, and having him run to his brothers, money forgotten. 

“Good talk, boys. Don’t ever make me come back.” 

With that, he left for what would probably be twenty minutes of drinking at Xigbar’s before taking off for the club. 

Aqua was livid. Obviously, he had forgotten to call her back on the way home, and made her think to have gotten ditched by arriving at almost eleven fucking p.m., when they were all leaving the apartment together already. Everybody thought that, actually, which put him in a very uncomfortable situation that he expertly avoided getting into details by saying that practice had run late, and Roxas had wanted dinner. They all focused on drunkenly joking about fucking in the sparring room and then grabbing dinner instead of pressing him for more answers, which, for the first time this week, wasn’t actually wrong, but that he refused to admit to, anyway. Having a quick shot at Xigbar’s, he followed everybody down to wait for an Uber. 

For the first time in his life, he didn’t have fun at the club. It took him a long time to get drunk, his friends all disappeared into the dancefloor, and he barely even felt like dancing all night, lights flashing, music blaring, crowd sweating, and his mind on Roxas, on his cousins, whether or not they’d follow through, whether or not he had scared them enough. He didn’t want to hurt them, just push them away so Roxas could finish high school in peace and get the diploma that he wanted. Was he actually studying tonight? He hadn’t come here with everybody, which was a start, but that didn’t actually mean anything, because he could’ve simply come by himself, like he had done multiple times in the past, or gone somewhere else, or maybe even stayed home doing fucking nothing. If he was home, was he hanging out with his roommates? Were they kind to him? Axel had never heard him complain about them, which was good, but was that only because his cousins took precedence? If so, then he’d probably know that soon. Finishing a beer, and still not drunk enough to have the club melt beneath his feet and the lights overhead swirl, he decided to take the loss and go home. Being here and hating every moment of it wasn’t worth it. 

In the building, he almost pressed the first floor button. He stared at it as the elevator doors closed with a ding and didn’t take him anywhere, hand hovering over the twelfth floor button, eyes fixed down at the first floor one. At two in the morning, was Roxas asleep? Was he even home? The goodbye smile in the car, the hand-holding in the basement, everything that had happened before then; his heart fluttered, and soared, and choked him, and he shouldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it, God, what would Marluxia think? Pressing the twelfth floor, he leaned back onto the elevator walls, listening to the machinations hoist him up, watching the weather screen tell him that this snowy weekend would be better spent indoors.


End file.
